


Suitcases and Tealeaves

by Berunien



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Erebor is on an island off the north of Scotland, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hobbiton is a small English village, Humor, M/M, Most of this fic will be T-Rated, Multi, Oral Sex, Politician! Thorin, Slow Burn, Teahouse Owner! Bilbo, Thorin's company is his campaign team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berunien/pseuds/Berunien
Summary: Bilbo Baggins was nobody special.He paid his bills on time, brushed his teeth twice a day, and ran a small Teahouse down the lane called Bella’s Brewhouse; fondly named in honour of his passed mother. Bilbo was 35, had a Degree in English Literature, and happily lived alone.Nothing exciting or overly extraordinary happened to him.That was, until his oldest friend Gandalf Greyhame arrived on his doorstep late at night, after a favour.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 66
Kudos: 127





	1. The Suited Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Suitcases and Tealeaves (2014)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966275) by [Berunien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berunien/pseuds/Berunien). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> The world is on fire and Australia is in covid-19 lockdown, I can't think of a better use of my time than re-writing and finishing the 166k fanfic I wrote for a year and abandoned in 2015.
> 
> I've learnt a lot since I posted the original story (for starters I've actually BEEN to the UK now), I want to give this story another crack and finish it.
> 
> The old fic is still live, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966275/chapters/4254540) if you were interested at all.
> 
> I will be posting the chapters here as I re-write them, with a few major plot points added/removed, and will eventually start posting fully new chapters in time.
> 
> If you read the original Suitcases and Tealeaves, welcome back!
> 
> And if this is your first time hearing of me and this Modern AU, welcome to you too! Please be gentle.

Bilbo Baggins was nobody special.

He paid his bills on time, brushed his teeth twice a day, and ran a small Teahouse down the lane called Bella’s Brewhouse; fondly named in honour of his passed mother. Bilbo was 35, had a Degree in English Literature, and happily lived alone. 

The cottage he had inherited from his parents was spacious yet homely, a sandstone two-story, fitted out with all the latest eco-gadgets such as solar panels and grey water recycling. His roof was covered in wildflowers and the stone walls were concealed by vines, all matching the stunning gardens on his plot - thoroughly enjoyed by the resident Highland pony, Myrtle.

The quaint English village he lived in was exactly the sort of cliche stereotype one would imagine, where everybody knew everybody’s business, _especially_ the old lady gossips who lived vicariously through the lives of their neighbours. Back doors were often left unlocked, just in case a neighbour was in need of some emergency flour in the middle of a baking session. There were very few bitumen roads, most of them remaining in their original cobblestoned state; and the townspeople preferred to walk everywhere or travel by horseback - often doing both activities barefoot in the warmer months.

The Hobbiton residents (who called themselves ‘Hobbits’) valued comfort and good food above all else, ‘two breakfasts a day keeps the blues away’ being one of the many popular sayings in town.

‘Keep your nose out of other’s business, and no business will come looking for you’ was one of the other common turns of phrase, often cited - and _rarely_ followed.

Bilbo leant back in his faded grey window seat and scrunched his eyes closed, trying to ignore the fact that he was thousands of feet in the air. He desperately wished that he was back in his gardens, mindlessly weeding the sunflower beds, and gripped the plane arm rest tighter till his knuckles turned white.

He truly despised flying… he didn’t even own a car. The fastest speed he was accustomed to was a lazy trot on the back of Myrtle as they slowly meandered down Bagshot Row, on their way to visit his cousins every second Sunday afternoon. 

If it wasn’t such an emergency, he would have opted for a train home instead and taken his time getting back to Hobbiton. But to everyone’s surprise, his cousin Drogo’s wife, Primula, had unexpectedly gone into labour two weeks early and Drogo could no longer watch the Teahouse for Bilbo while he was away. 

Visiting friends in London had been lovely, but it was time to come back to reality.

The small domestic plane dipped for half a second, causing Bilbo to release a quiet  _ “fuck!”  _ under his breath. He opened his eyes and searched for the singular air hostess, who was sitting backwards and calmly staring out the window at the clouds below, two seats in front of him.

He sat up straighter, peering over the dark-haired head in the seat front of him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but is this turbulence normal?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so, sir. With these small planes a bit of jostling is to be expected.”

“Oh.” He winced. “Right.” Bilbo looked down at the sad half-finished airport latte in his hand and back at her. “Uh, could I bother you to bin this coffee by any chance?”

Clara - as her nametag indicated - smiled warmly and undid her seatbelt. “Of course sir, one moment.” She stood up and walked over to him, hand outstretched.

“Thanks ever so much.” Bilbo half stood to reach her, but forgot his seatbelt was still fastened - and fumbled the takeaway cup right into the lap of the person seated in front of him. 

Bilbo froze. “Oh my god I am _SO SORRY!”_ He undid his seatbelt hurriedly and awkwardly leapt out of his seat, turning to face his victim.

The man before him was, much to Bilbo’s dismay, extremely attractive and _exactly_ his type. His eyes were a startling blue, black short hair styled away from his clean-shaven face, and he had a striking angular nose.

He was tall, dark, handsome - and _very_ pissed off. 

Bilbo’s stomach flipped, the infuriated silence from the coffee-covered stranger not soothing his nerves one iota. He looked over at Clara, who had turned back to her station to fetch some serviettes, and was left alone standing in front of the suited man - watching his mood turn sourer by the second.

He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “Lucky that coffee went cold half an hour ago, right?”

_“Lucky?”_ He scoffed, gesturing angrily at the mess on his chest and lap.

Bilbo winced. “Hah, yes… lucky.” His voice trailed off as he turned to see Clara, ready with a handful of serviettes, and sighed with relief. “Cheers, you’re a godsend.”

She smiled at both of them, and offered the small pile to the gentleman sitting. “I’m so sorry about this sir, can I help you with anything at all?”

The man raised a bushy eyebrow. “I think I can handle this myself, thank you very much.” He began dabbing at his suit jacket with the serviettes and raised the offending coffee cup; directing a bone-chilling glare Bilbo’s way. “I believe this is yours?”

“Yes, sorry again. Terrible accident this.” He took the cup and handed it to the air hostess, but kept his eyes on the dark-haired man. “Is there any way at all I can make this right? I’m Bilbo, by the way. Bilbo Baggins.” The Hobbit offered his hand for a handshake, but the suited man’s expression just turned sourer.

A name was not offered in response. “I highly doubt you could afford the cleaning bill for this bespoke suit, how about let’s just forget this ever happened.” He drawled, deep voice filled with distain.

Bilbo scoffed, eyebrows raised, and lowered his outstretched hand. “Lovely. Well. Enjoy the rest of your flight then.” He said abruptly, turned, and sat back down in his seat utterly mortified by the man’s lack of manners.

He sunk down further into the seat, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. _This is going to be a loooong flight_ he thought to himself, crossing his arms. Bilbo shuffled till he became comfortable and shut his eyes - praying he could nap and pretend like his exchange with the suited stranger never happened.

\---

God, he hated airports.

Even though Bree Airport was one of the smallest ones he had been through, it still contained the manic hustle and bustle of frenzied travellers, eager to reach their destination.

Bilbo hurried forwards, avoiding bumping into grumpy passengers and their suitcases, and headed for the baggage claim. Signs led him down a tunnel and under the main entrance to the building, where he found the all-too-familiar conveyor belt; suitcases and bags already moving down the mechanical black snake that curled around the large white room.

The place was swamped, one other flight had arrived in the same half hour as his, much to his displeasure. People were already bumping each other out of the way, impatiently diving forward to retrieve their satchels and suitcases. 

This was the part of flying he hated the most, folks were just so damn  _ rude _ . He was always a little on edge at the baggage claim, no matter the day or weather.

Only three things are certain in life: death, taxes, and the chaos of the baggage claim.

He shuffled through the masses carefully and headed towards the conveyor belt on the opposite side of the room, muttering a constant string of apologies to whoever would listen. When he finally found a space free to wait for his bags he pulled his leather satchel around to his back, preparing to pounce. 

Bilbo looked around the belt, eyes searching for his navy suitcase. “Anytime now, yep. It’s not like I’m in a rush or anything.” He groused to himself under his breath, tapping one foot impatiently.

His suitcase rounded the corner and he grabbed it roughly by the handle, yanking it to stand by his side. Quick smart, he turned around and marched of there - eager to be free from his baggage nightmare as soon as possible. He strode quickly through the crowd and crashed into a suited shoulder, making him fall hard on his behind.

“ _You_ again.”

Bilbo looked up and was met once again with the steely blue eyes of the rude man from his flight. “Well well well, what a  _ magnificent _ surprise.” He groaned as he stood up, brushing himself down.

“Tell me, do you ever watch what you’re doing, or do you make a habit of ruining people’s day?” He mocked, head tilted to one side.

He spluttered indignantly. “A-and I’ll ask you this in return, do you make a habit of being extremely rude to everyone you meet?” 

“Just the lucky ones.” The man smirked.

Bilbo sighed, thoroughly exhausted, the fight leaving his body in an instant. As far as he was concerned, this man wasn’t worth it. 

“Well, didn’t I choose the right day to fly? I’m really  _ so lucky. _ ” He grasped the handle of his suitcase and glared up at the stranger, over a head taller. “Not that this isn’t the highlight of my week, but I really must be off. Good afternoon.”

He stormed off towards the main doors, not looking back - the amused chuckle behind him passing unheard.

\---

The small white community bus came to a halt just out front of his cottage, jostling Bilbo awake from his nap. He squinted in the harsh afternoon light, turned to see the sight of his wooden gate through the window, and smiled brightly.

“Welcome home, Bilbo. Bet you’re glad to be back.”

He stood with a grunt and walked to the front of the bus, patting the grey-haired bus driver on the back. “My dear Proudfoot, you have no idea.” He stepped out of the bus, suitcase in tow, and breathed in the fresh country air. “You off soon?”

He nodded. “Got a few business types to cart about, I’ll be done before supper.”

“I see. Give my love to the missus, yeah? Tell her that her bread pudding recipe was brilliant, tried it out last week.”

“Of course, lad. Now I best be off, you know how those London businessmen don’t like to be inconvenienced.”

Bilbo groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, all to well, I’m afraid. Good afternoon!”

“Afternoon, Bilbo.”

The bus rolled into action, leaving him alone at the front gate. He smiled softly, warmed by the sight of his beautiful garden, now golden in the orange light. 

His stomach groaned, spurring him into action. “Time for some dinner, I think...” he mumbled to himself, closing the gate behind himself as he walked up the path to his front door.

Myrtle trotted up to greet him, rubbing her face down his shoulder gently. “Oh I’ve missed you, girl.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved an apple, offering it over. “Don’t say I never bring you anything from abroad.” 

The pony whinnied happily, pushing closer to him as he scratched behind her ears just how she liked it. “I’ll bring you some food soon girl, just got to fix myself something first.” He ran his fingers through her mane softy, teasing out a few tangles, and started for the house.

He unlocked the door with one hand, balancing the suitcase under his other arm awkwardly, and stepped heavily inside, attempting to regain his stance. The cottage was dark in the afternoon light, smelling slightly of damp after being closed up for two weeks. He walked past the living room, noticing that his Christmas decorations (a few gold and red trees on the windowsill) were still up, and made a mental note to fix that the next day.

Bilbo dumped his suitcase unceremoniously in the hallway and walked into the kitchen, pulling the fridge door open. “So what’s for dinner hmm?… mouldy lettuce, stale bread or runny tomatoes. Bon Appétit.”

The pantry didn’t offer much more, but after finding some dried pasta, a small jar of pesto and some canned tomatoes; a simple dinner deemed the choice for the night. He worked first on the sauce, adding some fresh basil from his herb garden for flavour, splashed in some red wine, and left the sauce to reduce on the stove for a while. 

“Some wine would go down quite nicely, actually.” Bilbo mused to himself, pouring some of the Merlot into a stemless wine glass. After a quick sip he set about starting the fire, the crisp early-spring air cooling his stone cottage to a bone chilling temperature. 

“Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.”

\---

Bilbo couldn’t have planned his night any better if he tried. It was utterly perfect - the fire was roaring, filling the lushly decorated living room with warm light in the late evening. He was in his favourite armchair by the fireplace, feet up on his wooden trunk coffee table, finishing off his dinner. And to top it all off he had had three glasses of wine, making him feel fuzzy and relaxed.

The Hobbit chuckled to himself. Well, it was  _ nearly perfect _ . A gorgeous man rubbing his feet would have made the night a full ten out of ten.

He put the empty bowl down on the floor and took the wineglass in both hands, tilting his head back. “ _ Christ _ it’s good to be home” he sighed, staring up at his many bookcases. Bilbo melted further into his chair,  utterly satisfied, and smacked his wine-stained lips.

_ -Knock knock- _

“Who on _earth_ could be visiting at this hour?” He put his wineglass down and went to the door, tying his dressing gown tighter around his waist in an effort to hide his worn flannel pyjamas. 

Bilbo pulled the heavy front door open with a loud  _ creak _ and was met by the twinkling grey eyes of his oldest friend, Gandalf Greyhame. He was over a head taller than Bilbo with long salt and pepper hair, which was in its usual unruly state, tucked messily into a worn grey trilby.

“Bilbo, my young chap! So good to see you.” He pulled the Hobbit into a big hug. "I heard you came home early, exciting news with your Primula!”

“Gandalf! What a lovely surprise.” He fussed over the older man, taking his hat, and hung it by the door. “Yes it is exciting - I’ve opened some wine, please, come in and sit near the fire.”

He chuckled as Bilbo pushed him towards his eclectic cushion-covered lounge, and left to retrieve another glass for his guest. “That would be lovely, my dear. You do always have the best taste in reds.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Yes, well, I believe it was you who got me my first decent bottle of wine for my 18 th . So most of the credit should go to you.” He padded back into the sitting room and filled his companion's glass. “So you say you saw Prim earlier?”

“She’s doing rather well. You should have another addition to your family by tomorrow, I think.”

“Yes, because we don’t have a large enough family now…” He started counting his cousins and relatives on his fingers and lost count, his mind fuzzy with the red wine. “Us Bagginses and Tooks really do know how to populate a village, that’s for sure.”

Gandalf laughed softly, took the offered wine glass in hand, and sniffed it curiously. “Indeed you do, my lad.” He took a long sip and hummed appreciatively. “A fine drop, as usual.”

Bilbo nodded in response, mid-sip himself, and hummed thoughtfully. “As much as I enjoy your company Gandalf, I’m assuming you’re after something at this late hour?”

The elder man nodded, placing his glass on the wooden table between them. “I know I usually come at a more _civilised_ hour, and I won’t take up too much of your time, but fear I have a small favour to ask.”

“Of course, anything.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard through the Hobbiton gossip grapevine about the London visitors that have just arrived?” He asked conspiratorially, leaning closer.

“Old Proudfoot mentioned something about some businessmen from London?”

Gandalf smiled, eyes twinkling. “A Politician, actually. Any chance you’ve heard of Thorin Durin?”

Bilbo furrowed his brow, scouring his memory for the name. “Is he related to those brothers that are always on the cover of Heat, the uh- ‘party princes’, I think they’ve been called?”

“He’s their uncle, actually.”

He whistled sympathetically. “That must be pretty rough, dealing with those two troublemakers, especially after  _ those photos _ were leaked to the press.”

“They’re sweet boys, I fear they just get a little… carried away. They haven’t done anything you or I didn’t get up to when we were their age.” He winked cheekily. “Nevertheless, I didn’t come here to gossip, but to ask for the services of a tour guide.”

Bilbo spluttered, eyes widening. “Me? A tour guide for a Politician?” He shook his head. “I run a Teahouse, Gandalf. I’m not exactly used to dealing with  _ those _ types, nanas are more my forte.”

Gandalf watched him bemusedly, taking another sip of his wine. “It’s quite simple, all you have to do is take him around the village and tell him about all of the environmental changes that have been made the past few years, that’s why he’s here.”

He eyed the older man suspiciously. “And this isn’t another one of your schemes? Last time I helped you out I ended up with a pony in my front garden.”

“And Myrtle has been a lovely addition to your home, has she not?”

The Hobbit harrumphed. “You and I both know that’s not the point at all.” He squinted sceptically up at Gandalf. "Are you sure you’re telling me everything?”

“My dear Bilbo, I should be offended.” Gandalf raised a hand to his chest in mock-offence, earning an amused snort from his companion.

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Where and when?”

“Tomorrow just after breakfast, he’s staying at the Gamgee’s B&B while he’s here.” Gandalf stood up slowly, wincing from the movement. “Thorin is a nice enough fellow, just don’t be late.”

“Noted. It was lovely seeing you again, Gandalf, even this late.” Bilbo stood and led him to the door, taking his empty wine glass. “But are you going to tell me why he’s _really_ here?”

Gandalf hummed amusedly, eyes twinkling. “And what would be the fun in that, my old friend?”

“Typical.” He grumbled as he opened the door and hopped from side to side to keep warm, the brisk air startlingly cold compared to the warmth of the fire. “Stay out of trouble, would you? You don’t want to find yourself deemed a  _ disturber of the peace _ .”

The grey-haired man clapped Bilbo on the back and laughed, beaming down at him. “I’ll try my very best,” he winked “no promises though, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, yes. Now off with you! Some of us respectable members of society like to maintain a bedtime  _ before _ midnight.” He chided without any real heat to it, handing Gandalf his hat.

“I’ll be in contact soon, my dear friend. Thank you again for the wine.” He offered Bilbo one last smile and turned, whistling to himself cheerfully as he walked out the front gate and down Bagshot Row, twirling his gnarled walking stick.

Bilbo closed the door and tripped on the suitcase in the hallway, only catching himself at the last moment - one arm braced against the sandstone wall. He exhaled and steadied himself, eyeing the navy blue offender distastefully. 

He hefted the suitcase up with a grunt and made his way upstairs slowly and carefully, suddenly feeling the full effects of the wine. Luckily, his bedroom door was close to the top of the staircase, only one door down the short hallway. 

Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he dragged the bag up and onto his bed, groaning with the strain. Much like the rest of the house, Bilbo’s bedroom was all about comfort - his large antique wrought-iron bed taking up most of the wall opposite to the door. The room was furnished sparsely, containing an old but enormously comfortable maroon suede couch, an antique mirrored wardrobe, and two small circular bedside tables that were stacked high with various books. The cream wallpapered walls were covered in mismatched frames, in gold and wood, all sporting various photos or artwork.

Bilbo sighed happily as he looked around his room, utterly relieved to be sleeping in his own bed once more. Not that his bed in London was stiff or too small, but there was nothing quite like the comfort that Bilbo found in his own bed. He perched on the side of his bed, unzipped his suitcase, and let out a quiet “…Oh.”

This wasn’t his suitcase.

He pawed through its contents, discovering a man’s navy striped pyjamas, an old grey tee, multiple folded dress shirts, an Oxford University hoodie, and various toiletries and paraphernalia one always packs for more than a weekend abroad. Bilbo searched through these items gingerly, feeling guilty looking through the suitcase, as if he was peering into it without permission.

“Who in the blazes does this belong to, hmm?” He mumbled to himself, pulling out a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bilbo flicked to the front page, hoping for a name or number, but was met with blank pages and the index.

Bilbo continued going through the suitcase, pushing aside assorted navy and black socks and stilled, having reached a neatly folded pile of men’s pants. He paused. “ _Surely_ a grown man doesn’t have his name written on the elastic of his pants… but it doesn’t hurt to look?” Bilbo muttered as he unfolded the pair of black Calvin Klein briefs and cackled aloud when he did _indeed_ see a name written on the waistband in black permanent marker.

“ _ Thorin?! _ ”

He dropped the pair of pants in an instant, one hand flying to his chest in surprise. “Of _course_ it belongs to someone I’m meeting tomorrow, who else could it bloody be with my luck.” Bilbo met the eyes of his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. “And I’m having a full-blown conversation with myself, it’s official. I’ve been single for _far_ too long."

The Hobbit gingerly placed the socks back on top of the pairs of pants, trying his best to make the pile look untouched. That was one conversation he severely wanted to avoid the next day, he did not want to have to explain why the politician’s pants had been ‘investigated'. He would look like a right creep.

Bilbo put the rest of the suitcases contents neatly back together and placed it at the end of his bed, out of sight for the moment. He would deal with that embarrassment tomorrow. “Christ, I hope I didn’t pack anything too awful that he went through…” He shook his head, trying not to overthink it too much. It was already rather late, and he had an early start of tour-guiding the next day. 

He found a spare toothbrush in his ensuite and got ready for bed, thankful that he was already in his pyjamas and didn’t have to slip into a cold pair of flannel trousers. Bilbo heaved himself into bed and settled in, watching a repeat of 8 out of 10 cats on his iPad. He rolled over and near instantly fell asleep, Jimmy Carr’s haunting laugh echoing through his dreams.

\---

After rustling up a gourmet breakfast of reheated pasta, Bilbo was out in the front yard, hitching the small wooden two-seater wagon onto Myrtle. She didn’t mind the fussing and attention, and was happily nibbling on any grass within reach. It was a breathtakingly beautiful morning, crisp yet sunny, making Bilbo glad he had pulled on his thick double-breasted olive green coat. The spring afternoons may have warmed up, but the mornings still held the winter chill.

“Right. Time to go meet this  _ Thorin _ character, I think.” He chatted to Myrtle as he checked her harness once more. Happy with its state, Bilbo pulled himself up onto the cart, popped his black wayfarers on, and was off down Bagshot Row.

It was not yet nine in the morning but the whole town was already up and about, getting their Monday morning affairs sorted. As he meandered down the hill, Bilbo passed a few of his neighbours in their front gardens happily tilling away, and exchanged a few pleasantries before continuing down the cobblestone road, headed for the Gamgee’s B&B.

Bell and Hamfast Gamgee had been married for over ten years by now, being childhood sweethearts and all. They started business at their lush B&B five years ago, just after the birth of their firstborn son, Sam. The cottage was a long two-story redbrick, had a large wildflower garden and vegetable patch, and an impeccable modern interior, recently renovated.

Bilbo tied Myrtle’s reigns to a small willow tree in the back yard, pulled the navy suitcase out of the back of the wagon and made for the front door; eager to get the morning’s proceedings over with. As he rounded the corner, Bilbo found a young ginger-haired man frantically speaking into his iPhone, wearing a myriad of knitted items with his suit trousers, all in various shades of grey and maroon. He jumped when he turned and saw Bilbo, quickly ending the call.

“I’m so sorry if I scared you, you didn’t have to end your conversation on my account.” Bilbo offered apologetically, hands raised.

The ginger man shook his head. “No it’s not a problem, really, it was finishing up anyways.”

Bilbo eyed the man curiously, unsure if he had just met his companion for the morning. “Mr, uh, Durin?”

The man spluttered, his cheeks turning pink. “Heavens, no! I’m his p.a.” He walked towards Bilbo, offering his hand confidently. “I’m Ori Rison, if you need anything from Mr Durin, just contact me.”

He shook Ori's hand eagerly, earning a beaming smile in return. “Bilbo Baggins. A pleasure, really.” He gestured to the village around him. "Welcome to Hobbiton, I guess! I hope you’re enjoying it here so far.”

“It’s so lovely here, Mr Baggins.”

Bilbo snorted. “Just Bilbo, please. Mr Baggins is my father.”

Ori chuckled good-naturedly in response, the sound making Bilbo’s heart melt just a little. “Only if you call me Ori.” He looked behind himself carefully, as if checking the coast was clear. “Mr Durin’s in a bit of bad mood today, something about his luggage getting mixed up? I was on the phone to Bree Airlines all last night, someone’s made off with it apparently.”

Bilbo winced. “Yeah, that might have been me…” He pulled the suitcase from behind him, Ori’s eyes widening. “It was mayhem yesterday at the airport and I just grabbed the first navy suitcase I could find. Also- I think he might have mine?”

“You have no idea how much grief you have saved me from.” Ori sighed, clapping his hand to his chest. “I was about to call his family in London to send his clothes over. He’s very particular about what he wears, you see. It’s got to fit his ‘brand’.”

He pursed his lips, trying to hide a smile. “Well, we can’t have that now, _can we?_ How about you give this to him so he can get some fresh clothes on, I’ll make some tea and meet you both in the kitchen in, say, fifteen minutes?”

Ori positively beamed. “Oh Mr Bilbo, I do think we are going to have a wonderful time here if everyone is half as nice as you.”

Bilbo waved him away, shaking his head amusedly. “Come on, don’t keep the fancy man waiting.”

The p.a. grabbed the suitcase eagerly and rushed inside, making a decent amount of noise as he thumped up the staircase, the sound spiking the interest of Bell Gamgee. She popped her head out of the front door and grinned as she spotted Bilbo, waving eagerly for him to come inside.

Bell was the sort of person you instantly liked. She was short, plump, had a blonde bob, tortoise shell horn-rimmed glasses, and wore loud floral dresses - always accessorised with a matching cardigan. 

“Should have known all that racket would have been your doing, pet.”

He grinned and walked forward, kissing her on the cheek. “That p.a. is adorable, Bell.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing fondly. “Poor lad wouldn’t know a potato from a pumpkin in the garden, but he seems to know what he’s doing with that Durin chap, Ori's never off his damn phone.” Bell ushered him in, pushing Bilbo towards the kitchen. “Now enough talking shop, how’s my love Prim?”

Bilbo found himself man-handled into a stool at the kitchen counter, and Bell fussed about the yellow cupboards, muttering to herself about making some tea. “I hear she’s doing well, apparently I’ll have a new family member sometime this afternoon.”

“Oh that is just lovely. You visiting them at Bree Hospital anytime soon?” She handed over a cup of tea, gesturing towards the milk and sugar on the bench for him to take at his leisure.

“I don’t want to be a bother, I know she’ll be dead tired after being hounded by our giant family. I’ll probably visit sometime in the next few days, after everything’s settled.” He added milk and sugar, and took a tentative sip.

Bell hummed thoughtfully, leaning against the opposite side of the counter, elbows propped up. “It’s probably best, don’t want to stress Prim when she’s exhausted.” He nodded in agreement. “So, enough of that, how was London?”

He put his teacup down, crossing his arms on the countertop. “It was fine, I suppose. Very loud. Lots of traffic.  _ The usual _ . Loved seeing everyone, but there’s no way in hell I would ever move there.”

“I don’t know how _anyone_ lives in London, they always seem so rushed. I’m forever saying to my Hamfast, _its nice and all to visit for a weekend, but anything longer than that is plain exhausting.”_ She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And those London types are so often rude! Always shoving each other and hurrying somewhere.”

“Oh Bell, you don’t have to tell me twice, I ran into one on my flight. I accidentally spilled a bit of cold coffee on him and he looked at me like I had murdered his first born. And he even had the _nerve_ to be all _‘oh you couldn’t_ **_afford_** _to dry clean this suit, I’m so handsome and rich with my perfect cheekbones and stupid hair - and also fuck you’.”_ He lowered his voice for comic effect, mimicking the man’s deep voice badly, head bobbing from side to side.

She covered her mouth with one hand, eyes wide. “No!”

He nodded eagerly, taking another sip of tea. “And then he shoved into me again at the baggage claim! He was possibly the _rudest_ man I have ever had the displeasure to meet-”

“-And of course, you were the  _ shining example _ of good country manners?”

Bilbo scrunched his eyes shut, turned around on his stool, and found the same annoyingly-handsome man from the flight smirking down at him. He was in a fresh dove grey suit, leaning casually against the door frame with his hip, arms crossed. The stranger nodded to Bell, offering her a small polite smile, and walked into the kitchen to fetch himself a cup of tea. Bilbo glared daggers into his back, simultaneously embarrassed and infuriated.

Bell glanced between the two men, a cheeky smile in place. “Morning, flower. Sleep well?”

He hummed in agreement as he reached into an overhead cabinet for a teacup, Bilbo trying to ignore how his suit jacket had ridden up, displaying his irritatingly perfect arse. “The suite is extremely comfortable, thank you for your fine hospitality.”

She blushed, tutting self-deprecatingly. “Just glad to hear you’ve settled in well. You needing any breakfast this morning?”

He rounded the counter and sat a chair down from Bilbo, dainty teacup perched amusingly in his giant hands. “I don’t eat breakfast usually, too busy.”

“Well you’re not  _ too busy _ this morning, so you’ll be having breakfast and you’ll eat every bite.” He opened his mouth as if to object, but was silenced by a sharp look. “Just enjoy your tea and I’ll put together a quick bacon and egg roll for you. Alright?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine.”

She turned her sights on Bilbo. “And I’m sure your pantry is empty after your trip, so I’ll be making you one as well.”

“Bell, really, I-”

“-I won’t be hearing a no from you either, pet.”

Bilbo let out a short burst of laughter and waved her on, knowing he couldn’t say anything to change her mind. 

Hosting a B&B was a perfect role for Bell, she constantly ‘mother-henned’ anyone within her sights. She turned around and started for the fridge, pulling out what she needed. 

Bilbo snuck a look at his forced breakfast companion, who was staring out the window, obviously ignoring him. _Well, this is going to be the most awkward second breakfast ever_ he mused, nervously spinning his teacup around its saucer.

The stranger cleared his throat, making the Hobbit turn and face him. 

“Yes?” Bilbo asked, eyebrow raised.

“What affairs have brought you here this morning? I assume it’s not for a room, since you’re a local.”

He scoffed, taking another sip of his tea. “Small talk? _Really?”_

Bell shot Bilbo a look that said _be polite, your mother raised you better_ and he sighed, putting his teacup down. 

“I have to take some stuffy politician around town this morning, show him all the  _ exciting  _ eco-friendly changes we’ve made.”

The man clenched his jaw. “And what has this  _ stuffy politician _ got to do with Hobbiton?”

“No idea, I assume he’s just using us for a fluff piece for the Daily Mail. _‘Thorin Durin visits eco-village, makes plans for UK’s future’"_ He said mockingly, arms raised. “Well, probably _something_ like that. We had another one here recently, a Smaug Azugâl. He just poked about for two days, talked to some of the farmers and left. Must have gotten what he wanted."

“Did you speak to him?” The man asked, his scowl deepening.

Bilbo was taken aback by his sharp tone, eyeing him curiously. “No, he just talked to the farmers out by the Party Tree. The farms out there are the biggest ones; most of the food for Hobbiton comes from them. Must have been something to do with that.”

The outsider scratched at his chin, brow furrowing.

He continued, “what has it to do with you anyway? I’m assuming you’re just down here from London to blow off some steam, have a break, and assault a few villagers on the way?”

“It was you who accosted me _,_ _twice_ , if I recall correctly.”

He raised a finger and was about to argue with the politician, but was interrupted by Bell placing a plate of steaming egg and bacon rolls in front of them with a loud  _ thunk! _

“Go on, best get some food into you Bilbo. I won’t be hearing any refusals, pet.” The stranger chuckled at Bell’s coddling, but earned himself a pointed glare from her as well. “You too, love. I don’t care what you’re used to back in London, you’ll eat proper while you’re under my roof.”

He nodded and picked up his own roll, taking a first bite. “This is delicious, thank you very much."

“Of course it is, it’s the old Goodchild recipe, learnt it from me Nan.” Bell dusted her hands on the frilly apron she was wearing. "Now hurry up you two, you’ve got a big morning of sightseeing ahead.”

Bilbo choked on his mouthful, hitting his chest to get the food down. “He is _not_ coming. I already have to deal with one _suit_ today.”

She grinned at him icily, smile not reaching her eyes. “And he’s your  _ suit _ for the day, flower. If you’d introduced yourself as he walked on in, you’d have worked that out yourself.”

He froze, staring at her wide-eyed. “Ah. I see _.”_ Bilbo gulped loudly. “Shit."

Bell whipped him with her tea towel and scowled. “None of that language in this here house, you know that. I won’t be having my Sam repeating any filth.” She straightened up, placing the towel over one shoulder, smile returned. “Now, I’ve had my fun listening to you make a fool out of yourself, how about you pull it together and use some of those fine manners I know you have tucked in there somewhere.”

“Right.” He turned to Thorin who was watching him amusedly, thoroughly enjoying the show. “My apologies, Mr Durin.”

He waved away the apology. “Thorin, please. You’ve already insulted me multiple times this morning, calling me  _ Mr Durin _ would be a touch too official, don’t you think?”

Bilbo blinked, mind running at a hundred miles per hour. How the _hell_ was he going to live through this morning. “Right. Yes. I'm Bilbo.”

Thorin smirked, fully aware of his companion’s distress. “Well, Bilbo Baggins, where can this  _ stuffy politician _ get a good coffee around here?”

He winced. “Ah, well, I run a Teahouse actually. If you want, after our tour, I can make you one? I need to open shop at around 10 anyway.”

“Perfect.” Thorin stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Do we need anything before we head off?”

“Uh, actually, I think you have my suitcase?”

Thorin’s smirk widened. “So _you’re_ the avid love poem reader.” He teased. "If it hadn’t been for all the men’s shirts and trousers, I would have thought I had swapped suitcases with a middle-aged cat lady."

“ _Really,_ Thorin?” Bilbo crossed his arms, sighing exasperatedly. _"_ Making fun of women for liking things isn’t cute, even if you look like _that_.” He pointed at Thorin from head to toe dismissively. "It’s Keats and E.E. Cummings, _hardly_ as embarrassing as you writing your name on your pants elastic."

He blinked, taken off guard. “Touché.”

A flushed Ori rushed into the room, Bilbo’s suitcase in tow. “Bilbo, just who I was looking for! Everything should be in here, I just repacked it neatly for you.”

“Um, it was already packed tidily.” He looked up at Thorin pointedly. “Just how thoroughly did you go through my luggage, Thorin?”

“Nice hair curler, pink suits you.” He teased.

“Wow.” Bilbo turned to Ori, eyebrows raised. “I am so sorry that you have to deal with this heterosexual nonsense, and manage someone who thinks that it’s amusing to mock people for maintaining their hair.” He glared up at Thorin. “And I am _so sorry_ that my fabulous curls offend your straight sensibilities so; this big ‘ol bisexual likes to do more with his hair than slicking it back with gel like we’re still in 2005, _sweetheart."_

“No need to explain your beauty choices to me, _Master Baggins._ ” Said Thorin smugly.

“Oh honey, no _that-_ ” He pointed at Thorin’s crisp gelled head “-is a _choice_."

The two took a step towards each other, and Bell decided it was time for her to cut in before things escalated. “Enough of that, you two.” She chided. "You best be off, lots of places for Bilbo to show you.”

Thorin remembered himself and regained composure, rolling his shoulders. “Of course. Thank you again for breakfast, I’ll be back later today.” Thorin gestured towards the door and nodded at his tour guide. “After you."

“Right. Yes. Breakfast was lovely, Bell.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked outside, suitcase in tow.

Ori and Thorin followed, and as Bilbo rounded the corner to bring Myrtle into view, he heard Thorin halt in his steps. “There is no way in hell I’m getting in  _ that _ .”

Bilbo turned, seeing Thorin grimace and point at Myrtle, who was happily nibbling away at a tuft of grass. He put one hand on his hip angrily, mustering as much authority as he could. “You’ll be getting into that wagon and you’re going to be nice to Myrtle, Thorin Durin.”

Thorin glared down at him, squinting his eyes menacingly. “Fine.” He strode ahead and grabbed the suitcase out of Bilbo’s grasp.

“Hey!”

“I’m just putting this in the back of the wagon, calm down.”

“I am quite able to do that myself!”

He looked down at Bilbo, suitcase already under one arm. “I’m taller.”

Bilbo groaned, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand. “Fine, fine. Lets just get on with the tour, then.” 

After the suitcase had been secured, Bilbo untied Myrtle from the tree and led her around, now facing the house. He checked the harness and straps, hopped up to his side of the front bench, paused, and eyed Thorin expectantly. “ _ Well? _ ”

Thorin looked at the wagon then up at Bilbo. “Uhh…”

“You just step on the middle of the wheel, hold the front, and pull yourself up. _Surely_ something you can handle.”

“Right.” Thorin grabbed onto the side of the seat and hauled himself up far too eagerly, ending up half in Bilbo’s lap. He quickly fixed his position, finding himself squished next to the shorter man, thigh to thigh.

Bilbo coughed pointedly, trying to ignore Thorin’s radiating heat. “Come on Myrtle, let’s head off.” He urged her into action, settling into a comfortable trot. 

Ori walked by the side of the wagon until they reached the property gate, taking last minute notes from Thorin, who talked at what Bilbo estimated was a hundred miles an hour. 

“…and that should be all, Ori. I’ll call you if I think of anything else.” Thorin finished, Ori’s fingers a blur on his phone screen.

“Of course, Thorin.” He put his iPhone away and beamed up at Bilbo. “Have a lovely tour, you two.”

Bilbo grumbled in response, earning himself a raised eyebrow from Thorin. “Sure, have a lovely rest of your morning."

They headed out the front of the B&B gate and down the hill towards Sandyman’s Mill, predominantly in silence - Bilbo kicking himself internally for letting the posh git get under his skin.

\---

“…most of the houses here run on solar power alone, why, Bag End has been off the grid for around five years now.”

“Bag End?”

A soft smile appeared on the Hobbit's face as he looked across the field to his home. “My cottage, maybe you’ve seen it? It’s at the top of Bagshot Row.”

“With all the wildflowers on the roof?”

Bilbo’s smile widened. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Been in the family for generations.”

Thorin’s expression remained unmoved. “If you’re into that sort of thing, I suppose.”

“What about yours, then? A penthouse flat somewhere in London, all chrome and glass?” He asked, thick with disapproval.

The politician sighed. “This going to be a habit of yours, making assumptions?”

Bilbo grinned cheekily. “I’m right though, aren’t I?”

He rolled his eyes. “My flat in London does steer in a more… modern direction, but my old home in Erebor was a three hundred year-old castle.” Thorin paused. "Also in the family for generations.”

“Please don’t tell me I’ve insulted an heir to the throne?”

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head. “Erebor hasn’t had its own Monarch in centuries, not to worry. My lineage is royal though, the last King of Erebor was my ancestor, Náin II.”

“Well, colour me impressed.” He replied sarcastically.

“I’m starting to think it will take quite an effort to impress you.” 

Bilbo peered over his sunglasses and winked. “You’re trying to impress me now, are you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Of course I am-” the Hobbit teased, “-but I have to ask, what did you mean by your ‘old home’. Did you all move out?”

Thorin stilled, his expression morphing into an unreadable mask. “We haven’t lived there for some time.” 

Bilbo turned and looked to the road ahead, unbothered by the politician’s icy tone. “Fine, don’t tell me.” He shrugged. “Would you at least tell me why you’re here, then?”

“Not for a fluff piece for the Daily Mail, I can assure you.”

He let out an amused huff, breaking the awkwardness between them. “Are you going to answer anything directly this morning, or just dodge my questions in such a… well,  _ political _ way?”

“It’s really not that interesting, I assure you.” Thorin cracked a smile. “I’m running for Prime Minister so Balin, my campaign manager, suggested I should meet some every-day Englishmen and this village was brought up. The fact that you’re all so  _ environment-conscious _ is an added bonus.”

“Really?” Bilbo jigged his knee impatiently. "Because you seemed pretty interested when I brought up that Smaug Azugâl character.”

“The fact that he is also running for PM has nothing to do with my visit.”

Bilbo sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure it doesn’t.” He looked up at Thorin pointedly. “You know, us Hobbits don’t usually take kindly to strangers poking about our village, it would help if you told us why you were  _ really here _ .”

He smirked. “Hobbits?”

“Out of that whole sentence,  _ that’s _ what you opted to focus on?” He tutted. “Hobbiton…  _ Hobbits _ . Get with the program, Thorin.”

“Apologies, it just caught me off guard. It’s rather…  _ endearing _ . Suits you all.”

“Just get it over with. _Yes_ , we’re all cute gardeners who prefer to spend a morning amongst our flowers and drinking tea, not running about in some concrete jungle on our mobiles, yelling - I don’t know - _stocks_ at each other. You won’t be the first visitor to think us all so… _endearing_.”

“Do you really think so poorly of us in London?” He asked amusedly, squinting up at the sun above.

Bilbo sighed. “That’s not what I meant, Thorin. You really do have a talent for making me say the wrong things.”

“I’ll ensure to add it to my resume.” He replied, smirking.

_ Wow if this man wasn’t straight as a rail, I could swear Thorin was flirting with me…  _ Bilbo thought, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Like I said, I’m just here to shake a few hands, take a tour around the village, and not make a fuss.” 

Bilbo was not convinced one bit by his airy tone. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

They fell back into silence, Bilbo turning the conversation over in his mind. If he was going to get a clear idea of what Thorin was _really_ doing here, he would have to do some digging of his own.

\---

After half an hour of touring the Hobbiton countryside, Myrtle rounded the bend and halted in front of Sandyman’s Mill, nose investigating the grass situation at hand. Bilbo patted her side and jumped down, straightening his jacket.

“I’m just getting some fresh baked goods for the Teahouse, did you want anything?” He asked, fetching a small basket from the back of the wagon. 

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

Bilbo nodded and headed inside, after quickly tying Myrtle’s reigns to the post by the Mill entrance. The front room was converted into a Bakery, with eggshell blue walls and a vintage white wooden counter at the opposite wall, displaying all the morning’s cakes and sweets. A portly old man, Old Sandyman, was behind the counter, flour in his grey hair. He was wearing a brown apron and fussing about the back wall display, moving the fresh loaves about in the various hung baskets. 

Bilbo coughed politely, making the older man turn around and grin brightly over at him.

“Why Mr Bilbo, what a lovely surprise. I’m assumin’ you’re here for your usual?” Sandyman called out happily, his thick west country accent booming around the small room.

“Of course, only the best baked good for my Teahouse, as you already know.”

Sandyman waved away the compliment, smiling cheekily. “Now none of that, Mr Bilbo. None o’ your sweet talk will get you any more scones, you know that lad. I’ll be adding your usual to the Teahouse’s account, and in your basket there.”

Bilbo chuckled, putting his basket down on the counter in front of him. “I know, but it can’t hurt a Hobbit to try.”

He pulled out a short stool and set about the small space behind the counter, gathering Bilbo’s things. “Anythin’ new to report? You know I always enjoy a good chinwag, everyone’s been gossiping about those Londoners who just arrived last night - have you met them yet?”

“I’m in the middle of taking one around on a tour now, actually.” He groaned.

Sandyman laughed heartily, shaking his head. “You poor lad! What’s a businessman doing taking a tour from simple folk like us?”

“He’s a politician, actually. Says he wants to meet some ‘e _ veryday Englishmen’ _ .” He rolled his eyes sarcastically, making Sandyman laugh even louder.

“Well there’s definitely an excess of those here, isn’t there?” He scoffed. "Everyday Englishmen.  _ Really _ .” Sandyman shook his head amusedly.

Bilbo leaned forward, lowering to a whisper. “Any chance you can ask around, see if anyone’s talked to the rest of his mates?”

The old Hobbit winked at him, leaning an elbow on the counter. “I have to do some rounds later, how about I ask around and pop in for a spot o’ tea later today, share me’ findings?”

“I knew your gossiping would come in handy one day.”

The older man raised a hand to his forehead dramatically, in mock offence. “Why Mr Bilbo how dare you, I don’t know whatever you’re insinuatin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. There’s a pot of free tea in it for you.”

“Deal.” He leant forward and shook Bilbo’s hand, then went back to filling his basket. “I have to pop in to visit Hamfast, I’m sure he’s overheard a thing or two while changin’ their sheets and fillin’ their stomachs.”

“How convenient.”

Sandyman hummed in agreement, putting the last loaf of sourdough into the basket. “Now off with you lad, you’ve got a tour to finish and I’ve bread to sell.”

Bilbo grinned fondly, linking the basket under one elbow. “I’ll make sure I save one of my lemon cakes for you, then.”

“Enough buttering me up, lad, I said I’d help out.” He shooed him out of the room, opening the door for him. “I’ll catch up with you later, have fun with your  _ new friend.” _

Thorin looked over at them questioningly, Sandyman’s last few words coming into earshot.

“Of course, Sandyman. Hope you have lots of business today.” 

He offered one last smile to the baker and walked over to Myrtle, putting his goods in the back of the wagon. Bilbo untied her and hefted himself back into his seat, taking the reins in hand.

Thorin eyed him pointedly, and gestured towards his left shoulder. “You’ve got some flour there…”

“Oh, right, thanks.” He dusted his shoulder uselessly, making Thorin mutter something under his breath and do the task himself, Bilbo sighing defeatedly under the unwanted attention. “Yes yes, that’s quite enough. No need to dislocate my shoulder.”

“You’re very welcome.” Thorin said sarcastically, checking his watch.

Bilbo spurred Myrtle back into movement, heading back towards the centre of Hobbiton.

Oh yes, this was going to be a  _ brilliant  _ morning.

\---

If you were interested, here's photo reference for Bilbo's cottage: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big tall handsome flirts terribly, makes cute man think he’s a prat. More news at 11.
> 
> \---
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed. 
> 
> Sidenote:  
> -Smaug’s last name, Azugâl, is Khuzdul for ‘fire-breather’... in case you were wondering.  
> -Bell Gamgee is totally Sarah Millican in my head, look up her standup on youtube, she's amazing.  
> -Yes, I’m playing around with Sam and Frodo’s age and the Gamgee family tree because plot...  
> -Also, I know Sandyman's Mill was originally for corn but I changed it to flour because damn Hobbits like their bread and scones.
> 
> Next chapter should be up within the week!


	2. Few Answers, more Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo goes searching for answers,  
> Sandyman pops in for some tea,  
> And Bilbo has some more unexpected guests at his cottage

Bilbo opened the Teahouse door with one hand, balancing the basket of baked goods in the other, and scooped up the mail at the doorstep. “Come in, come in. Mind the doorstep, its slightly raised.”

“Thanks.. .” Thorin said absentmindedly as he walked inside, peering curiously around the dimly lit Teahouse.

It was a converted cottage that was long and narrow; sporting hardwood floors, mismatched wallpaper, and décor covering the walls in a mix of golds, maroons, and wood. The antique furniture ranged from plush brocade lounges to polished wooden chairs, and two small chandeliers hung from the roof above. Yet despite its extravagant nature, the Teahouse still maintained the cosiness of home.

“It’s not much, but it’s mine.” Bilbo mused, putting the items from his basket away in the vintage glass display case behind the counter. “Find a seat anywhere, I’ll make you a coffee in a moment.”

Thorin hummed in affirmation and sunk down into a deep purple sofa near the counter, resting his elbows on the back of the lounge. He looked up at the chandelier above him, watching how the cut glass made the light dance on the walls, the delicate beads moving softly in the breeze from a nearby window.

“This place is much nicer than I thought it would be, judging from its rundown exterior.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Well colour me flattered.”

“You know what I mean. It could use a lick of paint here or there _. _ ” He gestured vaguely to the peeling wallpaper near the front door.

“This cottage is heritage listed, so there’s only so much I can do… but I quite like all the vines and missing stones, it gives the place character.”

Thorin huffed non-committedly. “I suppose.”

Bilbo stood in front of him, hands on hips. “So, a politician  _ and _ an interior designer? What other mysterious skills are hidden under that brooding exterior, hmm?” He enquired, voice thick with sarcasm.

“I can play an instrument.”

“That instrument being…”

“None of your business.” He smirked, folding his arms behind his head.

“Back to answer-dodging I see. How original.” Bilbo rolled his eyes, walked behind the counter, and started warming up the barista machine. “Could you at least tell me what sort of coffee you drink?”

“Double espresso, two sugars.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him over the silver machine. “You’re on a break, you hardly need the caffeine hit.”

He shrugged. “I just like the flavour.”

“Thorin, nobody drinks straight espresso  _ for the flavour _ .”

“I must be unique then.”

“Wow. If my eyes could roll further into the back of my head, they would.”

Thorin eyed him sceptically. “Is everything going to be a fight with you?”

Bilbo batted his eyelashes at him, utilising his sweetest smile. “I must be  _ unique _ .”

\---

The lunch rush had hit and Bilbo was near the end of his rope, frantically running to and fro between customers and the kitchen. Having Drogo away was a bigger setback than he had initially thought - the two of them together could have easily handled a day like this and not broken a sweat.

“Just a moment, Rose, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

He sped past the cheery old woman at the counter, smiling apologetically as he balanced a pot of tea and three teacups in his arms, headed for a table at the other end of the room.

“Here you are, folks. Chamomile, three cups. Just let her brew for three minutes and she’ll be ready to drink.” He set the items down and ran back to Rose at the counter, who was smiling at him sweetly.

“Bet you’re missing Drogo right now, eh?” She asked cheerfully, elbows propped on the counter.

Bilbo wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “You have no idea. I might even have to hire someone for the next few weeks if it stays this bad.”

“You could probably borrow Old Sandyman’s boy for a week or two, put it past him? I’ve seen him helping around the bakery now and then, lad’s finished school and looking for a job I hear.”

“That might just be a good idea, actually.” He clapped his hands together, determined look in place. “But enough of that, let’s get you some tea. What are we after today?”

She bit her bottom lip, looking up at the chalk menu board beside him. “Just a ruby rosehip and some scones, please.” She offered him cash and he pushed some buttons on the antique tin register, then handed her change back over.

“Just sit wherever, I’ll come and find you.”

Rose hovered at the counter, a cheeky smile blooming on her face. “Have you heard about that politician that’s settled here? Tolman Cotton told me that he’s an Italian chap, lots of money and the like.” She leant in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Might send my Lily in his direction, see if I can’t get me some fancy in-laws.”

Thorin coughed on his glass of water loudly, making Rose turn and eye him disapprovingly.

“My Lily is the finest lass in the village, young man. Just because we’re simple folk don’t mean we can’t make good wives for fancy types like you.”

Bilbo bit his lip, trying to stifle his laugh as best he could. “I think he just choked on his water, dear - maybe he wasn’t being rude?”

He nodded, hitting his chest roughly. “Water went down the wrong pipe, I meant no offence.”

Rose glared down at him, lips pursed. “Of course…” she turned back to Bilbo, smile returning, “also, I hear he’s got a lovely sister, if you were looking to find yourself a well-off Italian as well?”

Bilbo coughed uncomfortably, seeing Thorin’s wide grin from the corner of his eye. “No Italians for me thanks, I’m quite happy as I am.”

She tutted. “You’ve got to be careful Bilbo, you won’t be young and pretty forever. Soon you’ll have to settle down and find yourself a nice wife."

“I’m 35, Rose. I’m not exactly on _death’s door._ ” He groaned, ignoring Thorin’s amused snort.

She tutted, shaking her head. “I already had three children by your age, lad.  _ I’m just saying _ , you can’t be a bachelor forever.”

“I can try.” He grinned cheekily, earning himself a fond slap on the arm.

“Fine, fine. I’ll lay off and let you get back to work.” She walked down the room to a table by the door, picking up a trashy magazine on the way. “And extra cream with the scones, be a dear.”

He shook his head, smiling fondly. “Old bat.”

Bilbo set about making the tea and scones, and had only just added the tealeaves to the pot when he was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat at the counter. 

He continued what he was doing, back remaining turned. “Can I help you?”

“This  _ fancy Italian _ is off, I just wanted to say thank you for the coffee and cake.”

“Watch out on your way back to the B&B, you don’t want to find yourself being kidnapped by an overeager mother.” He turned to face Thorin, grinning mischievously. “Or should I just direct them to the Gamgee’s main suite, Hmm? I can even charge door entry, make some extra money on the.”

“Hilarious.” Thorin drawled. "You should go into stand-up, really.”

“Design opinions  _ and  _ life coaching, well aren’t I spoilt rotten for advice today.”

“I’ll send you the invoice tomorrow.” He said mockingly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thankyou for your time this morning, I’ll be in touch if I need anything else from Hobbiton’s resident tour guide.”

“I eagerly await your call.” He replied sarcastically, mock-bowing.

“It was a  _ pleasure _ meeting you, Mister Baggins.” Thorin replied, sarcasm laid on just as thick.

“Yes, yes. You too. Now enough with the pleasantries, I have a business to run.” He waved Thorin towards the door. “And don’t run the Gamgee’s ragged, will you? They’re good people.”

“But how will I maintain my expensive Italian façade?” He teased, completely deadpanned.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips and tapped one foot impatiently. “Off with you! Stop wasting my time, I have tea to pour and Hobbits to feed.” 

“Fine, I’m going…” He stood up, took a few steps and turned around slowly, smirking. “I’ll call my sister, see if she’s interested in finding herself a nice country husband.”

“Thorin!”

He chuckled. “I promise to mention your  _ dazzling personality _ .”

Bilbo shooed the man out of the door. “ _ Go! _ ”

Thorin’s shoulders shook with suppressed laugher, “fine, I know when I’m not wanted," and left - leaving a slightly flustered Bilbo in his wake. 

Trying to gather himself, the Hobbit scurried back behind the barista machine and started cleaning the steam wand furiously with a plastic knife. He was a little more rattled than he would like, muttering under his breath about bothersome suited men and how they needed to stop being so infuriating and distractingly handsome.

For the second time that day he missed the sound of approaching footsteps, too focused in his task, and had to be distracted from his grumblings by a pointed cough.

“Say Bilbo, who was that handsome lad?”

Bilbo snapped out of his musings and popped his head over the machine, greeted by the beaming smile of Old Sandyman. “Err who?”

Sandyman chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You know who I mean, that suited fella who just moseyed on out of here.”

“Right. Ah, that was the Politician, actually.”

“That Thorin Durin fella?” He whistled sympathetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Had a hard life, that one. I saw Hamfast on the way over, an’ he told me he overheard a big grizzly chap talkin’ to that Thorin lad about being forced out of his home or somethin’.”

He leaned forward over the barista machine, voice lowered to a whisper. “What do you mean  _ forced out _ ?”

“Hamfast said he heard em’ talking about some other political fella with a funny name, sounded like smog… or was it smell… I dunno, somethin’ _different_.”

Bilbo sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Any chance at all this man was named Smaug?”

“That’s the one! You heard of him?”

“He was here a few weeks back, actually… I mentioned the name to Thorin and he got all  _ broody.. _ . Well, more broody than usual.”

“I heard there were riots and everythin’, and people  _ died _ …” Sandyman came in closer, lowering his voice. “You think we should be worried about this  _ Smaug _ character? If he kicked Thorin out of his home, what’s to say he won’t try it 'ere?”

Bilbo shook his head, frowning. “I highly doubt it. Thorin lived in some grand castle, we’re simpler folk… I’m sure it was all just some misunderstanding.”

“I hope you’re right, Mister Bilbo. I’ve never trusted outsiders from the city, can’t be too careful.” He tapped his nose conspiratorially, raising his eyebrows.

“And what would a politician want with Hobbiton, hmm? He going to steal all our recipes, sell cakes on the black market and become, I don’t know,  _ the muffin mafia _ ?”

The greying Hobbit laughed softly, shaking his head fondly. “Well, when you put it  _ that way _ …”

“Nobody is coming for Hobbiton, my dear Sandyman. You’ve been watching too many of those crime dramas late at night.”

He huffed indignantly, crossing his arms. “I have not...” Bilbo raised an eyebrow accusingly. “Fine, maybe I ‘ave. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see somethin’ fishy goin’ on here.”

“Nothing ever happens here, and you know it. The only  _ mystery _ in this village is whether we’ll have pink or purple decorations for the Mother’s Day celebrations in a few days.”

“It’s purple, my Eleanor’s doing the cakes.”

Bilbo walked around the counter and put an arm over his shoulder companionably. “And there we have it! No mystery in Hobbiton after all, my old friend.”

Sandyman grumbled to himself, clearly not convinced. “Never mind that, just watch yourself with that Thorin, lad. I still don’t trust him.”

“Well do trust me, there’s no budding friendship there. Not to worry.” The older man eyed him sceptically. “What! All we do is bicker, the man is utterly repugnant.”

“Of course, Mister Bilbo. Like I didn’t see him beamin’ as he walked out of here earlier.” He lowered to a whisper. “Now, I know what you do behind closed doors is your business and you let everyone in Hobbiton think you’re straight just because you dated Amber seven years ago… but it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone. Don’t let this Thorin fella get to you ‘cos you’re lonely.”

Bilbo groaned. “Not this from you too! One lot of relationship advice per day is about all I can take, Sandyman.” He released the older man and walked back behind the counter. “I’ve only just met the man,  _ who is a twat I might add _ . And I’m not lonely.”

Sandyman held up his hands apologetically. “I didn’t mean no offence, Bilbo. Just lookin’ out for you is all.”

He ran his left hand through his hair, sighing tiredly. “I know, I know. It’s just… running the Teahouse by myself all day has been rather stressful and I’m a bit snappy, sorry.”

“Anythin’ I can help out with?”

“Actually, I was wondering if your Ted was looking for any extra work? Just to help out around here while Drogo is looking after Prim and their new baby.”

“I’ll ask him when I get back home, but I’m sure my lad’ll say yes. Been askin’ for one of those new ‘ _retina_ _my-pads’_ or whatever those things are, and I says to him he could save up and get one himself... means he might actually look after it proper and not break it.”

Bilbo winced. “Is he in a habit of breaking things or-”

“-No, no. He just needs to learn a little about responsibility, that’s all. Lad’s a proper hard worker in the bakery.”

“Right…”

Sandyman laughed awkwardly. “Pay me no mind, Bilbo. I’m always lettin’ me mouth run off without thinkin’ first. He’s a good lad, really, I wouldn’t say he could work here if I didn’t think he could handle it.”

“As long as you’re sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded eagerly, strawberry-blonde curls bobbing from the movement.

“Alright then.” He picked up a spare napkin and a pen, and handed it over. “Write down his number and I’ll call him tomorrow, tell him to think about it tonight. I’m thinking… three or four days a week depending on how busy it is.”

“Sure thing, lad.” He took the napkin and pen, scribbling down the details.

“Now, how about I make you that tea, hmm? I’ve got a slice of the lemon cake aside for you, as promised.”

He handed the folded napkin over, beaming up at the younger man. “You’re too good to me lad, you know that?”

Bilbo put the number in his pocket, chuckling fondly. “Oh stop it, you fussy old Hobbit.” He waved him over to a table casually. “Just go put your feet up, I’ll be over soon with your afternoon tea."

“Music to my ears. Don’t know why you’re single, you smooth talker.” He winked cheekily, as he turned to sit down.

“I fear I’m just too intimidatingly attractive, you see.” He raised a hand to his brow melodramatically, earning himself a chuckle from Sandyman and a few of the eavesdropping patrons.

“Enough lolly-gagging, get started on that there cake.”

“Yessir.”

\---

Bilbo collapsed face-first into his bed, utterly and thoroughly exhausted. He’d had rough days in the past, of course, but with the combined political tour and flying solo at the Teahouse, he had had quite enough of people for the day. 

After groaning into his pillow for a few minutes, he rolled over and rubbed his eyes gingerly, seeing stars.

“Ugh, I never want to leave this bed ever again.” He kicked his shoes off and peeled off his heavy jacket, throwing it haphazardly onto the couch at the opposite end of the room. “What a fucking  _ day _ .”

He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling and contemplating what to do with the rest of his evening. There was the issue of an empty pantry, which he was far too exhausted to deal with. He also had the Christmas decorations to put away… yet another task he couldn’t be bothered to undertake. 

Bilbo heaved a heavy sigh, blinking slowly up at nothing, his lower back aching from overuse. Since when had he become so  _ old _ ?

“Takeaway and telly. Done.” He muttered to himself, and rolled sideways out of bed. 

Eyes bleary and unfocussed, he tripped over the edge of his suitcase at the end of the bed and flew downwards onto his sofa, cursing loudly.

“Bloody  _ hell _ that hurt!” He rubbed his toe angrily, shooting daggers at the navy luggage. “You’ve been nothing but trouble, you know!”

_Oh fantastic_ , he thought sarcastically, _now_ _I’m talking to my fucking suitcase._

Bilbo leant down and scrutinized the suitcase closely, only then noticing a small piece of cardboard jutting out of the top pocket. He plucked the card out, revealing another below it, and sat back in his chair, reading them both. 

One card was a thankyou note from Ori, saying that it was lovely meeting him that day; and of his appreciation for taking Thorin out for the morning, Ori’s number scribbled on the back if he needed anything. The second was Thorin’s business card with his work details, and when Bilbo turned it over discovered another untidy message from Ori, containing Thorin’s personal mobile number ‘in case of emergencies’.

"And why in God's name would I need this for an emergency?” He shrugged indifferently and whipped out his iPhone, adding the three new numbers from Ori, and Ted Sandyman’s number from the napkin in his pocket.

He scrolled through his contacts for a few minutes, wondering which takeaway he would order for dinner. Deciding on pizza, he ordered his usual, and had a quick pleasant chat with the girl who was manning the phones. A minute into the conversation, Bilbo discovered she was in fact the daughter of one of his old classmates and was hit with the sudden, painful realisation that he hadn’t really done anything with his life.

What a way to abruptly end a phone conversation- with a full-blown existential crisis.

After throwing his phone onto the bed Bilbo slumped down on the couch, feet outstretched, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. “I’m really having a bit of a shocker today, aren’t I…” 

One of his school mates had a fifteen year-old kid. _Fifteen_. And what did he have? A fussy pony whose farts smelled like old cabbage. How uplifting.

Bilbo’s phone trilled, making him groan unenthusiastically and pull himself up and over to his bed. He collapsed forward on the bed heavily, propped himself up by his elbows, and read his text.

**B** **ell Gamgee: It was good seeing you this morning, flower. Make sure you get some proper food into you tonight and do come around again tomorrow for breakfast. I’ve something to show you x**

“Ugh, so much for that sleep-in tomorrow.” He sat up slowly, leaning his back against the headrest of his Queen bed.

**Bilbo Baggins: Sure thing, Belle. Any chance you could get that twat Thorin out of the house by the time I come by? Or am I pushing my luck?**

He chuckled down at his phone, awaiting what he knew would be a feisty reply. His phone beeped near-instantly, making his smile widen.

**Bell Gamgee: You’ll be nice to that fella or you’ll be getting a hiding from me.**

**Bell Gamgee: Chose your next words wisely, pet.**

**Bilbo Baggins: Your demands are cruel but fair. Done.**

**Bell Gamgee: Not so hard, was it now.**

**Bell Gamgee: And bring some of your nice tea, will you?**

**Bilbo Baggins: Done.**

**Bell Gamgee: Lovely.**

**Bell Gamgee: Promise me you’re eating something with vegetables in it for dinner**

**Bilbo Baggins: Pizza…**

**Bell Gamgee: Please tell me you’re joking**

**Bilbo Baggins: It’s considered a vegetable in America.**

**Bell Gamgee: Christ almighty.**

**\---**

Bilbo’s phone rang down by his foot on the bed, making Bilbo snap out of his daze whilst reading a book on wildflowers. He sat up and reached down the bed, accepting the call just in time.

“Bilbo speaking.”

“Bilbo! So good to hear your voice!”

He chucked and put the call on speakerphone, resting the phone on his chest. “Drogo! How’s our Prim doing? She had the baby yet?”

“She had him earlier this afternoon. I’m just doing the rounds now, calling everyone to tell them how we’re doing.” Drogo laughed breathlessly, his exhaustion painfully apparent.

“And how  _ are _ you doing?”

Drogo whistled tiredly. “Prim and the lad are doing well, she’s having a nap in the next room. He’s nice and healthy, got big blue eyes like his mother.” He let out a happy sigh. "We decided on Frodo, something nice and traditional.”

“That’s a lovely name, Drogo.” He folded his arms behind his head, lying back on the bed. “I was thinking of visiting you two tomorrow afternoon, if that’s alright?"

“It would be great to see you, it’s been too long.”

He hummed in agreement. “It really has. I know I was only away for two weeks, but after seeing you nearly every day for two years, it feels like forever.”

“About that… I’m really sorry you had to come home early, if Prim and I knew-”

“-Stop right there, Drogo. This was surprise for us all, and Prim and the baby are both happy and healthy. Don’t apologise, really.”

Drogo groaned, the unmistakable sound of him pacing in the background of the call. “I still feel bad, Bilbo. And now you’ve got to run the place alone and-”

“-Will I have to interrupt you this whole call? Drogo. Honestly. _It’s fine.”_ He laughed warmly. "Sandyman’s boy, Ted, is going to help out at the Teahouse till you get back, there’s no rush. And when you _do_ come back, you can start on half days until you feel comfortable with leaving Prim alone with Frodo. ”

“But Bilbo, what about all the orders and-”

“-Drogo, you fusspot! Trust me, I have this all under control. All you have to worry about is looking after Prim and Frodo, alright?”

“You’ll call me if something cocks up, promise?”

Bilbo chuckled. “I promise.”

Drogo let out a long sigh. “Good. Now I’m sorry but I have to go and call all fifty other members of our ridiculous family. Phone’s been ringing off the hook all day, nurses nearly confiscated the damn thing.”

The doorbell rung downstairs, followed by three loud knocks. “And there’s someone at my door, I have to be off too. Give my love to Prim and get some rest, please?” Bilbo climbed out of his bed hurriedly, and made his way for the staircase.

“Yes, yes. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be a sport and bring some cakes or something to the hospital? Food here is damn awful.”

“I’ll bring your favourites. See you tomorrow, mate.”

“Bye!”

Bilbo ended the call, put his phone in his shirt pocket, and scuttled towards the front door as the bell rung again. “Coming!” He heaved the door open and was greeted by the pizza deliveryman with a curt nod. “Sorry about that, had to run from upstairs.”

“No problem. Sixteen Pounds, yeah?”

He gave the man his money, took the pizza and garlic bread in one arm, and exchanged brief pleasantries before closing the door behind himself. The mouth-watering smell of the tandoori chicken pizza and garlic bread wafted up his nose, making him rush to the kitchen to dish-up his dinner.

“Christ, I am starving!” Bilbo pulled out a plate and dished up two slices, leaving the pizza box on the countertop. He took a bite and moaned, eyes rolling back in his head. “Damn this is  _ good _ .”

_ -Knock knock- _

“This better be important, there is no way in hell I am letting that pizza go cold.” He muttered grumpily to himself as he wiped his mouth with a serviette and went to open the door.

_ -Knock! Knock! Knock!- _

“Yes! Just wait a second, will you!” He opened the door aggressively, hand on one hip and a deep scowl in place - but as soon as he saw who was at his door his annoyed demeanour faded instantly.

The man on his doorstep was positively the most threatening, intimidating man he had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. 

His bald geometric-tattooed head towered over Bilbo; he had dark bushy eyebrows, a wild beard, and a dangerous look in his eye - everything about him screamed ‘hired muscle’. If he wanted to, he could have easily snapped Bilbo in half using just his pinkie finger. 

The stranger rolled his huge suit-covered shoulders and sized up Bilbo, foot tapping impatiently. 

The Hobbit cleared his throat in discomfort, shuffling his feet. “I, uh, can I help you?”

He looked over Bilbo distastefully, raising an eyebrow at his fluffy red slippers. “I just need a minute of your time, Mister Baggins.”

His rough, Scottish accent only added to his terrifying demeanour, making Bilbo tighten his grip on the doorframe. “W-Well that’s all fine and good, but I have no idea who you are and until I do, you are not setting foot in this here house.” He tried to sound as intimidating as possible, but his quavering voice gave him away. 

There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop this man entering his home if he wanted to, and they both knew it.

“Dwalin Fundinson, head of security for Mister Durin while he’s here in Hobbiton. At your service.” The large man bowed his head.

Bilbo rubbed his face tiredly, leaning back on the doorframe. ‘If I hear that man's name one more time today, I swear I’m going to fucking lose it.”

Dwalin chuckled, the deep rumbling sound catching Bilbo completely off guard. “Aye, lad. But can you at least save the theatrics till I’m gone? We’re going to have to talk about him eventually.”

“Can this get postponed at all? I just sat down for dinner, you see.” He motioned behind himself, making his unwanted visitor peer curiously over his shoulder inside the cottage.

“I can talk at you as you finish your wee meal.”

He huffed loudly out of his nose. “Oh for  _ Christ's sa _ \- fine.” He threw his hands in the air defeatedly. “Fine, come in, I can tell there’s nothing I can say to change your mind.”

“I appreciate your co-operation.”

Bilbo eyed him incredulously. “You’re a guest, now. No need to be so formal.” He beckoned Dwalin inside and closed the door behind the burly man, leading him to the kitchen. “It’s just pizza, did you want a slice?”

“If you’re sure?” He sat on a stool by the kitchen island, looking rather ridiculous as his huge body perched on the dainty antique.

“I’m hardly going to fit in an entire family pizza, am I?” He held up his hand. “Wait, don’t answer that.” Bilbo fetched an extra plate and placed it in front of his guest, gesturing for him to take what he wanted.

He nodded. “My thanks.”

Bilbo took a bite of his pizza, eyeing the strange man keenly. They sat in silence for a while, polishing off the meal together, Dwalin politely leaving the last slice for his host.

The Hobbit leaned back on his stool, patting his stomach happily. “Not that I don’t enjoy visitors as much as the next Hobbit, but… ah. Why are you here?”

Dwalin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and finished off his mouthful of garlic bread. “Need to do a background check, you see - make sure you’re alright.” He replied nonchalantly, crumbs caught in his whiskers much to Bilbo’s distaste.

“ _ Background check! _ This is Hobbiton, my dear fellow.” He spluttered indignantly, crossing his arms at his chest.

“I don’t care  _ where  _ you’re from, lad. All I care about is that Mister Durin stays in one piece.”

“So you eat my food and have the nerve to interrogate me? Just brilliant. Somehow I feel like I’ve got the short end of the stick here.”

Dwalin leaned forward menacingly. “You’ll answer my questions and you’ll answer them truthfully, laddie.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. “Just get it over and done with, enough of the ‘bad cop’ routine,  _ please _ .”

“As you wish.” He pulled out an iPhone from his pocket and put it down on the counter between them, setting it up to record their conversation. “This is all off the record, I’ll only use this to take personal notes from when I get back to my laptop, and then delete it. Are you comfortable with this?”

“Yes, yes. Get on with it.”

“Alright. Do you have any criminal history or priors that I should know about?”

He sat forward in his seat, chin propped up on one hand. “The most illegal thing I have ever done is scrumping, back when I was at school. Next question.”

“Do you have any people in your life that would take  _ advantage _ of your relationship with Mister Durin? Such as revengeful ex-partners, people who you owe money, etcetera.”

“Relationship! I’ve only known the damned man since last night, we’re hardly  _ best friends _ .”

Dwalin growled. “Answer the question, Mister Baggins.”

“For Gods sake! No, I don’t know anyone that would do anything like that.”

“Okay. Now, is there any incriminating evidence or photos on the internet that could tarnish your relationship with Mister Durin in the press?”

“I was  _ one _ tour! For fuck’s sake!” Bilbo covered his face. “If I had known spending two hours with Thorin this morning would be such a bloody nuisance, I would have never said yes.” He glared up at Dwalin, who was watching him amusedly. “Is this really necessary?”

“Mister Durin may need to consult you again about Hobbiton-related issues, and there is a chance the media could get wind of this and look into your background themselves. We need to ensure they won’t use any of it to hinder his chance at PM.”

“This is a  _ joke _ .”

“I can assure you, this is no joke.” Dwalin warned, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Now answer the bloody question.”

“No, there is nothing incriminating about me on the internet, or anywhere, for that matter. I mean, would you define being bisexual as _incriminating evidence on the internet?_ ” He joked.

Dwalin typed something in his phone and waved dismissively. “No no, that’s quite fine.”

“Gee whiz, lucky old _me_."

He ignored the blatant sarcasm and continued. "Have you ever been linked with any extremist groups or terrorist organisations?” He continued, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm.

Bilbo laughed raucously, making Dwalin’s scowl deepen. “Wow. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine ever being asked that question. I live in a small country town, Christ.”

“Could you please just give me a straightforward answer for once, not a running commentary?”

“Alright, no need to get all huffy. No, I have never associated with those types.”

“There we go, not so hard was it now. Let’s try something simple? How about your education and work history.”

“Right, okay. So I went to Bywater Primary, Bree Secondary College, and my English Literature Bachelor with Honours at the University of Surrey. Worked in small café’s and restaurants in Hobbiton 'till I bought my own Teahouse, and I’ve been running that with my cousin Drogo for around two years now.”

“Family?”

“Parents both dead for some time, and a ridiculous amount of family and in-laws.”

“Right.” Dwalin frowned.

Bilbo sighed. “They’ve been gone for nearly ten years, no need to get weird about it.”

“You must have been, what, twenty? Would have been hard.”

He eyed him incredulously. “Are we _seriously_ talking about my dead parents right now.”

“Sorry for saying anything.” Dwalin rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine, it’s just been so long that nobody talks about it anymore... And I was 25, for the record.” He sat up straighter. "Any more questions?”

“This is a rather personal one, and I’d appreciate your absolute honesty. We just need to know so as to prepare for any possible media backlash.”

“ _ Media backlash!”  _ Bilbo hollered incredulously.

“Let me ask the question, please. You must understand, if the media come here and start asking around after Mister Durin, people are going to mention your name. It is quite possible that your name could even be mentioned in the papers. People from your past may come forward.”

Bilbo groaned, rubbing his face tiredly. “Are you asking me about my sexual history, Mister Fundinson.”

“I’m afraid I am, laddie.”

“ _ Fucking hell. _ ” He walked over to a glass cabinet and pulled out two crystal tumblers, placed them on the kitchen island between him and Dwalin, and fetched his best whiskey from the lounge room. “Are you positively sure you need to know all this… personal stuff.” Bilbo called from the hallway.

“This  _ personal stuff _ is what the media will be digging up. We need to be prepared.”

He filled his and Dwalin’s glass, and took a fortifying sip. “As long as you’re going to delete this recording after.”

“You have my word.”

“Right. So, really nothing in school. James Silver in university, man was an absolute twat. Dumped him after a year together. And before you ask, no he won’t say or do anything…” He squinted up at the ceiling, thinking. “A few one night stands after that, uh, then Amber around seven years ago and nobody really since.”

“Are you absolutely sure this James fella won’t do anything? Does he have any… pictures or videos of you two together?”

Bilbo blushed bright red, and took another long sip from his glass. “He had one… photo, but it was on his old phone. I’m sure he deleted it, it was an age ago... But this is all ridiculous! I only met Thorin last night, and I haven’t even agreed to become his  _ Hobbiton Correspondent _ or whatever you want to call it.”

“I’ll get our tech guy to keep an eye on him, not to worry.”

“That is really not necessary!”

“I’m afraid it is, laddie. If that photo was ever leaked and the media heard that you and Mister Durin were working together, it would be devastating.”

“This is a nightmare. I can’t believe we’re still slut-shaming people for sending consensual sexy photos.” Bilbo shook his head. “When did my life become so bloody complicated.”

Dwalin chuckled, taking a sip from his glass. “It’s not all that bad, Mister Baggins. You’ve checked out quite well so far. Except for that James bastard, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks for calling him a bastard... Nevertheless, I know he won’t do anything.”

“Yes, well. You can’t always be sure, when it comes to the media and money.”

Bilbo looked up at him, brow furrowing. “Is there anything else I should be worried about-”

_ -knock knock- _

“Hold that thought” Bilbo groaned, sliding off the stool. “I’ll be back in a moment, fill up my glass will you.” He took another sip of whiskey and padded towards the door. “Coming!”

He pulled the front door open and was greeted by a beaming short elderly man; who had a long white beard and even long hair, pulled back into a ponytail. He was dressed in a sharp maroon three-piece suit, accessorised with a cashmere navy scarf and golden pocket watch, tucked into his vest pocket. The man reeked of money and status.

“Mister Bilbo Baggins, I presume?”

Bilbo fussed with the collar of his dressing gown, feeling rather self-conscious about his pyjama and robe combo. “Yes, I’m sorry I’m not better dressed. I fear I wasn’t expecting company tonight.”

The older man chuckled warmly. “It’s no problem laddie, that’s what happens when you appear unannounced. I’m Balin Fundinson, Campaign Manager for Thorin Durin.”

“Fundinson, wait - are you Dwalin’s brother?”

“He here already? We were meant to talk to you together, laddie.”

“Yes, well, he’s eaten half of my dinner and started drinking all my whiskey, so you better come and get your man.”

Balin tutted fondly, shaking his head. “Hope he hasn’t asked you anything too improper, he does get carried away with the whole _head of security_ role now and again.”

“We just touched on the fun topic of sexual history, actually. You really missed a show.”

The older man groaned, shaking his head. “I am so sorry, laddie. I fear when it comes to meeting new people my brother lacks any tact.”

“It needed to be asked and you know it!” Dwalin hollered from the kitchen, the clinking of glassware indicating he was starting his second round.

Bilbo opened the door wider, gesturing for his new guest to enter. “I suppose it’s time to get this interrogation into full swing. Shall we?”

\---

Bilbo clumsily filled what he thought was his fifth glass of Whiskey that night, his frustratingly low tolerance to alcohol making him a bit chummier with his new guests than he would have liked. The night had surprisingly turned from an interrogation into a pleasant storytelling session, where Balin was in the middle of sharing a rather amusing tale about one of the many compromising positions Fili and Kili had been found in, the morning after one of their rough nights out.

“…and, no word of a lie, I walked into their bedroom and found two goats, three ducks and a llama sleeping on their beds, _all wearing party hats,_ and the boys were nowhere to be found.” Balin paused for effect. "After looking about for a while, I found them both passed out in the bathtub together, still in their tuxedoes. May I remind you that this was after hijacking a two-year-old’s daytime birthday party; where the two of them had decided a good party gift for the lad was a _granite mortar and pestle_ ”

The three roared with laughter, Dwalin slapping the table heartily.

Bilbo wiped away a tear, trying to catch his breath. “Gandalf said they were troublesome, but I had no idea they were that bad.”

Balin laughed softly. “Gandalf was always fond of the boys, taught them how to juggle when they were only wee lads.”

“Wait, you know Gandalf?"

Dwalin nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Aye. He’s been our friend for some time now.”

“And you met him  _ how _ exactly?

The brothers looked at each other carefully, as if they were having a conversation with eyebrows and head-tilts alone. 

Balin cleared his throat, and finished off his glass of whiskey. “He helped us when we left Erebor, some time ago.”

“But he’s just a travelling salesman…” Bilbo shook his head, trying to think clearly through the effects of the alcohol. “Wait, I need to ask something. Has any of that got to do with Smaug?” 

Dwalin and Balin shot each other another secretive look, frustrating Bilbo to no end. 

“Fucking hell,  _ can I please have a straight answer _ !”

Balin sighed heavily. “Smaug did have a part to play in our eviction from Erebor, yes.”

“And should us Hobbits be worried that he was here a few weeks ago looking around?!” The Hobbit asked, eyes wide.

The brothers shared a third secretive look, sending Bilbo over the edge.

“For God’s sake! For you, this is just an election that you could lose to Smaug - but for us this is our  _ home _ .”

Dwalin growled at him dangerously. “You have no idea what Smaug has taken from us.”

“ _ Then tell me!” _

Balin put a hand on his brother’s shoulder softly, calming him down. “We don’t want to burden you with our sorrows, Mister Bilbo. Just know that he’s a dangerous man and shouldn’t be trusted.”

“I don’t mean to pry, it’s just… I don’t know what I would do if Hobbiton was destroyed. And from reading between the lines tonight, that’s exactly what that Smaug character did to your home.” He looked at them searchingly. “And if he _did_ destroy your home, how on earth did he get away with it!?”

Dwalin gulped the rest of his drink down, looking at Bilbo darkly. “Those with power often use it to their own ends, laddie. The world out there is a wild place, not like here for you simpler folk.”

“That is not an answer!” Bilbo threw his hands in the air, giving up. “Fine, don’t tell me. Just know this: if anything happens to Hobbiton and you could have stopped it, on your heads it be.”

“We would tell you more if we could, please believe me.” Balin offered apologetically, as he stood up slowly from the bench. “But we must be off, I fear. It’s getting quite late and we have to give our report to Thorin.”

“Oh yes,” Bilbo huffed, "relating all the _juicy information_ about me and my backstory.”

Balin chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “You passed with flying colours, not to worry.”

He eyed them shrewdly. “Sure.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, laddie. We’ll see ourselves out, and I expect we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

“Try to get back to the B&B in one piece, will you?”

“Of course, of course. Thanks again.” Balin shook his hand, and the brothers waddled out of the room slowly; their movements inhibited by the rich Whiskey. 

Bilbo closed the front door behind them, shaking his head. “What on earth have I gotten myself into?” He padded over to the lounge room and slumped down on the couch, glass of whiskey in hand.

He gulped down a mouthful, staring into the fireplace.

“So this is my life now. Brilliant.”

  
  


\---

A quick manip I made of Bilbo and Thorin at the Teahouse:

And photo reference for the exterior of the Teahouse:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.  
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> So, I kinda messed about with the Baggins family tree here, and have put Drogo as a first cousin.
> 
> Next chapter should be up within the week!


	3. A Hangover to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is rather groggy this morning after last night's activities,  
> Breakfast is had at the B&B,  
> And Thorin and Bilbo have a little 'chat’.

Bilbo rolled over and slammed the top of his alarm clock heavily, silencing it’s shrill wailing, and let out a bedraggled moan. He hadn’t had that much to drink in a long while, his current state reminding him exactly why - when he was hungover he was hungover as all hell, and it was time to steel himself. This was going to last all day. _Shit._

His headache pounded against his temples as he rolled onto his belly, covered his head with a pillow, and shielded his eyes from the piercing morning sun. The golden light cut through his mustard-yellow curtains and danced on the top of his bed, the backlit trees outside his window swaying gently in the breeze. Bilbo decided to take this as a personal affront.

How _dare_ the sun be so bright this early in the morning when he was hungover, what a _dick_.

It was the awful mornings that did it, that really made him regret getting too far into his drink. Nothing really said ‘welcome to today!’ like a dry sock-tasting mouth, headache, and a somersaulting stomach to match.

He lay in bed for another few minutes, deliberating just how long he could get away with remaining in bed before he had to start rushing about and start his day.

“Bloody  _ hell _ .” He groaned raggedly as he delicately sat up and swung his feet over the side of his bed. Bilbo took his head in his hands, massaging his temples as he winced in the new vertical position. 

Slowly and carefully, Bilbo stood up and gripped his bedside table like it was his lifeline, knuckles white and knees wobbling. He hadn’t been  _ this _ delicate in a very long time, the thorough embarrassment of Dwalin’s questions the previous night spurring him on to drink the awkwardness away.

_ The interrogation. _

Bilbo sighed. He had absolutely no idea how he was going to look Thorin in the eye next time he saw that tall glass of water. And boy was this Hobbit thirsty.

He took a hesitant step, slipped his phone in the pocket of his pyjama trousers, and hobbled his way to the bedroom door; making a beeline for the kitchen. In his head on loop screeched a klaxon of _coffee! coffee coffee!_ and it was all he could think about as he opened the door to the hallway slowly, leaning heavily on the handle.

The passageway was startlingly bright, making him wince and cover his eyes. “Fucking hell!” He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the blinding light.

Squinting his eyes, Bilbo observed his dishevelled reflection in the floor-length hallway mirror and frowned. His hair was a mess, the auburn curls at near-Einstein height and magnitude, poking up and out in all directions. Bilbo's eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them; his ginger stubble had started to become visible, making him look rather dishevelled. The real cherry on top was his faded maroon pyjama bottoms, which were hanging rather low on his hips - his small, soft belly hanging over the top of the trousers’ elastic.

Shirtless, hungover and unwashed. What a _magnificent_ picture he painted his morning.

Bilbo scratched his stomach absentmindedly and tore his eyes away from the bedraggled figure before him. Oh yes, it was going to be a long one. He sighed to himself and began to make his way down the staircase towards the lower floor, gripping the rail to make up for his lack of balance, swearing under his breath whenever he wobbled on a step.

His iPhone message tone sounded, making him wince as he fetched it from his pocket. Bilbo unlocked it slowly with his thumb, leaning groggily against the kitchen doorway, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

**Bell Gamgee: I’m still expecting you this morning, pet. No matter how much you had to drink last night.**

Bilbo lamented the loss of his free morning. He had completely forgotten about visiting Belle and it was the last thing he felt like doing when death felt so close. _Especially_ if there was any chance of running into Thorin in his fragile state - he needed to be as sharp as a tack around that handsome bastard, ready with a snarky comeback at the drop of a hat.

He dragged his feet over to the kitchen counter and turned on his little red espresso machine, resting his elbows on the marble surface beside it, dreaming of a day when he didn’t feel like death warmed up.

His phone sounded again, shaking him out of his distant stare.

**Bell Gamgee: I mean it. You’ve put old Balin and Dwalin in a right state, they woke us all up at 3am when they came home with their drunken wailing. Or singing. Whatever you want to call it.**

**Bilbo Baggins: Yeah. I’ll be there.**

**Bell Gamgee: Well, someone’s talkative today…**

**Bilbo Baggins: I think I may be dead. Tell my family I love them.**

**Bell Gamgee: Texting me beyond the grave, are we? Colour me impressed.**

**Bilbo Baggins: Hilarious. Let me shower and I’ll be over within the hour.**

**Bell Gamgee: Don’t forget the tea. And drink lots of water.**

**Bilbo Baggins: Yes, mum.**

**Bell Gamgee: Watch it now, flower.** **  
** **Bell Gamgee: See you at nine.**

Bilbo made himself a strong, sugary long black and sipped tentatively at his mug, unsure if his stomach was ready to handle any liquids yet. He sniffed under one arm curiously and recoiled, the sharp smell catching him off guard. 

He looked down at his mug and then back up the hallway, towards the staircase to his bedroom.

“Time to multitask, I think.”

\---

After topping up his mug with another strong shot of espresso, Bilbo slowly made his way back upstairs to his bedroom - a feat in itself. Once inside, he pulled down his pyjama bottoms and pants awkwardly with one hand as he sipped his coffee with the other, looking like an unbalanced, caffeine-addicted flamingo as he swayed on one foot.

He padded barefoot over to the adjoining ensuite and rested his back against the tiled wall next to the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. One of the perks of solar power: on-demand hot water. Bilbo decided to take as long as he liked in the shower, Bell could wait.

Once he was happy with the water temperature, Bilbo angled the showerhead directly towards the floor and placed his coffee mug safely out of the way, still within arm’s length. He carefully stepped inside the shower, slid slowly down the wall and sat on the floor, hips to toes under the warm water stream. His upper body remained untouched by the spray, perfect for coffee drinking.

Bilbo took a pensive sip from the mug, warmth spreading down his chest. He looked down at himself and snorted, what a sight he made. Hungover as all hell, hair a mess, sitting on the shower floor and hitting back coffee. His mother would be so proud.

Time passed slowly and in a haze, making him feel alien in his skin. For Bilbo, being hungover felt hazy, like he was not quite in his body, the minutes passing him at a glacial pace.

He stared blankly at the opposite shower wall and reflected on the night previous, regaining some clarity under the cascading water. Why the hell were Dwalin and Balin so shady about Gandalf? And why couldn't he get a straight answer from anyone he talked to? 

Bilbo folded his legs to his chest, frowning. He hated not knowing what was going on, and the silent looks between Thorin and his companions were all too deafening. If he didn’t get any answers today, he was going to scream. Or make a scene. Potentially both at the same time. 

From the bathroom vanity his phone chimed, reminding him that he actually had things to do this morning. It wasn’t the time to bemoan his hangover and frustration, he had limbs to scrub and answers to find.

The Hobbit smiled to himself. Oh yes, this would turn out to be an interesting morning, just as long as that Thorin twat stayed out of his way.

\---

“Belle?”

“In here, flower!”

Bilbo rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen, greeted by Belle’s beaming smile. He pulled a tea canister out of his bag and placed it on the counter between them, bowing mockingly. “And your tea, my lady.”

Belle bounced on the spot, glowing with excitement. “Oh fantastic, a green tea! I haven’t tried that setting yet.”

_ “Setting?” _

She giggled and opened the tea canister with interest, sniffing its contents. “Yes, love. Got myself a fancy new kettle, I did. It brews the tea and everything, even takes the leaves out!”

Bilbo crossed his arms. “You brought me here at nine am, hungover as fuck, to test out a new  _ kettle _ .”

“Oi!” She slapped his shoulder playfully. “I thought I told you to watch your language in this house, with my young Sam about!”

“Yes, sorry.” He apologised, grinning cheekily. “This better be a  _ freaking _ impressive kettle-”

“-It really is, she wouldn’t stop showing it off last night.”

Bilbo looked up and was met with the impish smile of a young dark-haired man, someone he found eerily familiar. The twenty-something was rather handsome, tall and muscular, and much to Bilbo’s horror - shirtless. His eyes widened, the Hobbit not used to people being so comfortable with their near-nakedness around strangers, and directed his eyes to the man’s hair, unsure where to look.

“Aah Kili, good to see you’ve finally woken up and joined us.” Belle said fondly, gesturing the young man to join them at the kitchen counter.

“It’s not me you should be worried about, my useless brother was still asleep when I left my room-”

An unimpressed snort was heard at the doorway. “-And if you didn’t snore the house down last night, maybe I wouldn’t have to sleep in, _brother dear_.”

Another young man walked in, this time with long, messy blonde hair. Bilbo felt his cheeks reddening at the sight of yet another handsome man walking about the kitchen shirtless, his navy pyjama shorts hanging dangerously low.

Hungover, and not knowing where to look. This morning was a bloody disaster.

Kili elbowed his brother companionably in the ribs, making the blonde hiss. “Come on Fee, I’m not _that_ bad...”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking menace and you know it.”

Belle whipped them both with a kitchen towel, quick as you please. “Fili and Kili Durin! You both know better than to swear in this here house!”

The two had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, Belle.” Kili apologised, utilising his best puppy-dog eyes.

She hung the tea towel over one shoulder, tutting. “Those big brown eyes won’t do you any good here, pet. Just keep your dirty words to yourself, yes?”

“Yes, Mrs Gamgee.” Kili mumbled, chagrined.

Bilbo stifled a chuckle behind one hand, thoroughly amused by Fili and Kili's matching pouts. The two of them had to be in their early to mid twenties, yet one warning from Belle instantly reverted them back to tweenhood. 

Parents are powerful that way, no matter how old you get - one stern look and the use of your entire name would make anyone feel like they’re a kid again. _Especially_ if you had Bell Gamgee glaring up at you, five foot one of pure fury, weaponised tea towel in hand.

“Yeah Kili, _manners_.” Fili swatted his brother’s head.

“Hey! It was you who-“ Kili started and was rudely elbowed in the side by his brother. Fili silenced him and scanned Bilbo from tip to toe with keen interest.

Fili smirked. “And who might this be, now?”

“Bilbo Baggins. I live just up the road.” He answered shortly, unnerved by Fili's brazen stare.

Kili piped up at that, peering at him over his brother’s shoulder. “Wait, are you the one who took Uncle around yesterday?”

“Yes…”

“Brilliant! We’ve heard all about you.” The blonde’s gaze transformed into a wide grin as he pulled Bilbo into a rough handshake. “I’m Fili, and as you heard earlier, this is my brother Kili. We’re here visiting with Uncle, making sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble while he’s-”

“-It’s the other way round and you know it, laddie” Dwalin entered the room loudly, his heavy footsteps echoing in the small kitchen, Thorin in tow.

Fili beamed up at Dwalin. “Perhaps…”

Kili sauntered over to Bilbo and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, making the shorter man let out a small startled yelp. “I mean, look at how gorgeous the locals are, got to make sure Uncle keeps his hands to himself.” He pulled his arm tighter around the blushing man, ignoring his self-deprecating noises. “And so modest, Fee. Lucky for me, it’s a small village and I don’t have much competition.”

The Hobbit had no idea what to do with himself, having someone fawn over him so flagrantly was a rare occurrence. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, looking pleadingly at Belle for rescue, and actively ignored Thorin - whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

Dwalin raised a bushy eyebrow and smirked at Kili, his arms now wrapped around Bilbo in an octopus-like grip. “You’ll be keeping your hands to yourself, Kili… or do you want me to remind our audience what happened last time you charmed a village local with your pretty smiles?” 

He paled, made a choking sound at the back of his throat, and released Bilbo in an instant. 

Fili burst into a fit of laughter at the sight of his back-pedalling brother. “Oh god, I can’t believe I forgot about Tiff!” He took in a pained breath between laughs. “You walked straight into that one Kee!”

“Yes, yes. Laugh it up. Very funny.” Kili grumbled, crossing his arms. “That interview she did for Heat was positively  _ hilarious. _ ”

Bilbo gasped and stared at them both with wide eyes, only just realizing whom the two troublemakers were. “Oh my god, you’re the  _ Party Princes _ .”

Dwalin groaned. “Christ almighty, don’t tell me you’re a  _ fan _ . I thought we left all those desperate singles back in London.”

"A  _ fan? Desperate? _ ” He spluttered up at Dwalin, stepped forward and poked him hard in the chest. “Honestly. If I were you I’d be less worried about me knowing who they are, and more worried about keeping them in line and doing your job as head of security, I should imagine.”

Fili and Kili gawped at the two bickering in front them and turned to look at each other gleefully, like Christmas had come early. 

“I know how to do my job, lad.” Dwalin said as politely as he could muster through gritted teeth.

He raised both eyebrows. “Of course, such a strenuous job, interrogating anyone who comes within a 3-foot radius of your  _ pretty politician.”  _ He froze as he heard a low chuckle from behind Dwalin and winced, completely forgetting that Thorin was silently watching from the sidelines.

“So I’m  _ pretty _ now, am I?” The politician teased, deep voice smooth as caramel.

Bilbo groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. “Oh for fucks sake-”

_ “-Bilbo!” _

“Yes yes, sorry Belle.” He peered over at Thorin, who was looking far too amused by the whole situation. “Well, enjoy the show? Didn’t have anything to add earlier?”

“You seemed to be handling yourself just fine without my help.” He strolled further into the room, ruffling Kili’s hair fondly as he walked past to make himself some tea.

“Here, I’ll do that for you pet. You just sit down, I’ll bring it over.” Belle took the teacup out of his hand and pushed him gently towards the stools, and started the kettle.

“My thanks.” He sat, leaning back, and rested his elbows on the counter behind him. “So, Dwalin. Any particular reason you’ve decided to get our Hobbit all riled up?”

“Nothin’ really, jus-”

“-Just your  _ hired muscle _ not knowing when to hold his tongue.” Bilbo interrupted rudely, glaring down at Thorin.

_ “Hired Muscle!” _ Dwalin rolled his shoulders threateningly. “Thorin and I have known each other since we were wee lads, and haven’t been apart since-”

“-Enough, Dwalin.” Thorin shot Dwalin a look that the Hobbit couldn’t decipher, but it placated the man in an instant. “Bilbo, I understand that my friend may have been a touch… blunt last night when he visited you, but you must understand that I see him as family; he is not just an employee of mine and deserves your respect.”

Bilbo put his hands on his hips, glare remaining intact. “I will award as much respect as I have been given, Mr Durin. I fear I don’t respond well to being taunted.”

Thorin chuckled softly, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. “Yes, I know.”

Kili and Fili eyed each other warily, sending each other a ‘what the fuck is going on’ look.

Bilbo squinted at Thorin for a split second, trying to read his expression, but gave up. The politician's intentions were as clear as mud and there weren’t enough hours in the day to decipher whatever look Thorin was sending his way. Bilbo cleared his throat. “While we’re on the topic, the security check was unnecessary, Thorin. I mean  _ really _ . It’s  _ Hobbiton _ .”

“Are you complaining about the questions or your hangover this morning? Because I must say, you look a tad worse for wear.” Thorin teased gently, no real heat to it.

“Ha ha.” He laughed sarcastically, sitting down on a stool next to him. "Yes, let’s make a joke about how your Head of Security and Campaign Manager grilled me for hours and nearly drank my pantry dry.”

Thorin frowned and placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “And you will be repaid immediately for what they consumed, I apologise for their behaviour.”

“It’s fine, Thorin. I don’t want your money. I have more than enough wine in my cellar to last me for a long while. Hah...” He laughed awkwardly and faded off, trying ignore the heat radiating from Thorin’s huge palm.

“Absolutely not, I have done you a grave disservice. Someone will be around later to repay you.” He nodded and retrieved his hand. Bilbo missed its presence immediately.

“Are you listening to me?” Bilbo asked, a touch unnerved by how earnest the politician was being. “Thorin. It’s fine. I would just like a warning next time before any of your people come around, a quick little text perhaps. I prefer to entertain my guests dressed properly, in actual clothes.”

Thorin spluttered, glaring at Dwalin. “You saw him _naked!?_ ”

“I was in pyjamas, Thorin! Good Lord. Whatever has gotten into you this morning?” 

The politician calmed his expression and leaned back against the kitchen bench, feigning a casual air. “Let’s just say sleep eluded me last night, as I was caring for a rather loud and drunk Campaign Manager and Head of Security.”

A pointed cough was heard from the doorway, indicating the arrival of Balin, who shuffled carefully into the room and slumped on a stool at the other side of Thorin. “Which we have apologised for at least a thousand times this morning, my friend. Not to worry, we are paying for it dearly.” He directed a cheeky smile over to Bilbo. “You feeling as weathered too, laddie?”

Bilbo laughed in response, unable to be mad at him. “So hungover that I had a coffee in the shower with me this morning.”

Balin chuckled, patting his belly. “Aye, lad. It’s one of those sorts of mornings indeed... and thank you again for your kind hospitality last night; I haven’t had that much good Whiskey in a while.”

“Me either. I’ll feel better once I get some real food into me, though.”

“Well why didn’t you say so! I’ll have a fry-up ready in a jiffy!” Belle clapped her hands together happily and opened the fridge, pulling out eggs and bacon, always the perfect host.

“Oh Belle, I knew we were friends for a reason. If you weren’t already married I would snatch you up in a heartbeat.”

She tittered, putting the items down, and swatted his shoulder. “Alright you big flirt. Now, drink this water here and I’ll have breakfast ready before you know it.” She turned towards Fili and Kili, brandishing two frilly aprons. “Boys! A little help in here?”

“Want us to do it  _ just _ in the aprons?” Kili grinned cheekily, motioning as if to pull his trousers down.

“I’ve already seen you in naught but your pants, flower. I truly don’t mind, do whatever you like.” She rolled her eyes and shook the aprons for emphasis. “Well, make up your mind! I have eggs that need frying and bacon that needs flipping. Come on.”

Kili slumped, reached forward and took the frilly apron, tying it around himself. The trousers remained.

“There we go, sweetheart. Not so hard, was it? Now come on, we have some poor hungover lads to look after.”

“This still would have been more fun if I was just in my pants.”

\---

Bilbo rubbed his temples, hissing loudly. His stomach had settled, thanks to Belle’s amazing breakfast, but the headache was still throbbing away, the fresh country air not aiding in the slightest. He leaned forward, taking his head in his hands. “I am never, ever drinking again.”

He felt the cold touch of a glass being pressed against his left shoulder and looked up, greeted by Thorin pushing the drink into his personal space. “Well? Take it?” Thorin asked.

“Right, thanks.” He sat up and took the glass as Thorin joined him in his shady corner in the garden behind the B&B. The politician’s thigh pressed against his on the small stone bench and Bilbo’s stomach did a little flip before he squashed that feeling deep down. This was not the time for such fancies, the man was miles out of his league.

“I also got you this.” Thorin offered over a packet of paracetamol, which the Hobbit took eagerly, and he swallowed two with a loud gulp of water.

“You’re a lifesaver. I fear I’ve run out back at home.”

Thorin shrugged, staring out over the gardens. “It's nothing. Balin gave it to me, so thank him later.”

“Right.” Bilbo eyed him with interest, very aware of Thorin’s uneasy body language. His back was a touch too straight, shoulders too square, and he was avoiding eye contact. Bilbo worried his bottom lip with his teeth, unsure whether to speak or let the silence continue. He was never really sure how to act around Thorin, he still couldn’t get a read on him.

Thankfully, Thorin cleared his throat and broke the quiet for him. “I do sincerely apologise for Balin and Dwalin’s behaviour over the past twenty-four hours, and I want to repay you for all they took.”

Bilbo groaned. _This again_. “Really, Thorin. It’s fine.”

Thorin turned to look down at him. “Dwalin insulted you and asked questions which were far too private… and did so for my sake. Therefore it is me who is to blame.”

He laughed huffily, rubbing the back of his neck. “First, you don’t tell me anything about what’s going on and now you’re over-apologising. I’ve got to say - you’re giving me whiplash, Thorin.”

“I don’t mean to-”

“-No, it’s fine.” He sighed. “Honestly, the thing that pissed me off the most last night was that they kept on refusing to tell me anything of real substance. I still have no idea what _actually_ happened with Erebor, and why you left your home.”

Thorin’s open expression locked up in an instant. “And what, pray tell, did they reveal to you?”

“Just that Smaug shouldn’t be trusted…” He looked up at Thorin searchingly. “I know it isn’t my place to ask, but really, _what_ is going on? You can’t be this far from home just to ask questions about- well, about Hobbiton and farming and our _Solar Panels.”_

“Why I am here is none of your concern.”

Bilbo stood up and faced Thorin, hands on his hips. “ _ Hobbiton _ is my concern. Don’t get all  _ politician-y _ on me again, I’d like a straightforward answer thank you very much.”

“My past. My business.” He warned, eyes darkening.

“Well that’s all fucking good and well for you, but why has Hobbiton been pulled into this-” Thorin opened his mouth as if to speak, and was instantly silenced by Bilbo holding up a finger. “-No. It’s my time to speak. We may be simple folk who enjoy gardening, and you may think me silly for having a pony and flowers but I have  _ eyes _ , Thorin. I can see something is going on. I see all the shared secretive looks you and your company share, the glances when a Hobbit walks by… you’re worried about this place.”

“Bilbo, I must assure you, I-”

“-and don’t even _think_ of lying to me. I can see right through your bullshit. All that nonsense over breakfast about _planning to do a survey_ and _interviewing the Mayor_. Utter horse shit.”

Thorin stood up, towering over Bilbo. “I do not want to worry you.”

Bilbo laughed dryly, the smile not reaching his eyes. “I’m not some fainting maiden, Thorin. I can bloody take it.”

“Just know… that it’s under control and Hobbiton is safe.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with that!” He held his hands up to the air dramatically, as if calling upon the Gods. “The mighty  _ Thorin Durin _ tells me that it’s under control. Celebrate! For I have nothing to fear!” 

Thorin clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger in check. “It _is_ under control.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, honestly? You’ve been in Hobbiton all of two days and all you’ve done is ruffle feathers and step on toes. Half of Hobbiton is saying you’re actually a redeveloper, after the land here to create a housing estate or some shit; and the other says you’re bloody royalty here on a holiday!” He took a breath and lowered his voice, glaring daggers up at the politician. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

“Because I can’t let what happened to Erebor happen here!” Thorin roared, his patience snapping.

Bilbo took a step back, arms falling limply at his side. “Is this whole thing seriously about you? The fate of Hobbiton may be at stake, and it’s all about  _ you. _ ”

“Yes.”

“What the _fuck_ , Thorin.” Bilbo started pacing, ruffling hair agitatedly. “There are people’s livelihoods at stake, and it’s about _you.”_

“I know! I know _all_ of this! Do you think I came here easily? Do you think I am so proud that I flew over here, uprooted all my friends, just to taunt you and risk your home? Are you so unkind?” Thorin barked, the rawness in his voice making Bilbo freeze and look up at him.

“Thorin, I-”

“-No. It is  _ my turn to speak. _ ” He spat, taking another step towards him. “You always know exactly what to say to get a rise out of me, I have held my tongue long enough. I will tell you what happened to Erebor  _ if _ and  _ when _ I see fit. I will tell you what is happening with Hobbiton  _ if _ and  _ when _ I see fit. I will do  _ whatever the fuck I want _ if I see fit. I am here for a reason, I know what I am doing, and I do not need some soft, curly-haired tea-maker to lecture me on how to do my job.” He breathed heavily, glaring down at Bilbo who was defiantly scowling right back.

“You are not indestructible, Thorin.”

Thorin laughed mirthlessly, the sound chilling Bilbo to the bone. “I have lost enough to know that to be true.”

The anger left his body in an instant. Bilbo took a step closer, putting a hand softy on Thorin’s arm, and looked up at him searchingly. “Thorin, what is going on?” He asked, voice quiet.

He shrugged Bilbo’s hand off and took a step back. “You need to stop asking questions to which you will get no answer.”

“Fucking hell, Thorin...” His eyes darted up, a sudden thought springing to mind. “Wait. This is all about Smaug, isn’t it?”

“You need to stop mentioning that name in my presence, I cannot assure you I will always keep my temper.”

“And it’s going so well now!”

“Brilliantly!” He yelled, stalking closer.

“That’s fantastic!” Bilbo shouted back, now standing chest-to-chest with him.

They glared at each other for a long moment, gasping raggedly; their heavy breaths bumping their chests together at an uneven beat. The air around them felt hot and taught like a bow string, ready to snap in an instant. 

Bilbo gulped loudly. “Wha-what's to be done then?”

“I think… I…” Thorin's answer faded, words failing him, and he pressed in closer. Watching Bilbo's face, he slowly slid one hand up Bilbo's arm, eliciting a full body shudder from the Hobbit.

He licked his lips and caught Thorin’s gaze follow the movement, heat pooling in his belly. “Maybe… maybe we should...” Bilbo paused, closing his eyes, and tilted his head into Thorin’s hand which was now cupping the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek.

“Uh… U-Uncle?” Kili asked hesitantly from the cottage doorway, shattering the spell between Thorin and Bilbo. 

The two leapt apart as if they had been burnt, the Hobbit blushing bright red.

“What!?” Thorin barked, voice rough.

Kili visibly recoiled, wincing. “Dwalin said he had to ask you something? He said it was urgent?”

Thorin swore under his breath, turned back towards Bilbo, and sighed. “Another time, then.”

“Yes,” Bilbo mumbled, eyes unfocussed, “another time."

He grunted in response and stormed inside, leaving a shell-shocked Kili standing by the door, gawping at Bilbo.

“What the hell was _that?_ What… WHAT!” He gestured wildly behind himself to where Thorin had disappeared and back towards Bilbo.

Bilbo let out a shaky breath.  “I have absolutely no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah baybey, it’s ramping up!
> 
> Also, my Bilbo is a Disaster Bi #confirmed.  
> I have decided he has a Sagittarius moon and from now onwards will use him as a conduit to process all the wild things my Sag moon friends do and say. My Taurus ass doesn’t know what’s going on half the time but I enjoy how spicy they are.
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.


	4. Eau De Brewery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo visits baby Frodo in Hospital,  
> We meet little Samwise Gamgee,  
> And Bofur decides a drinking game is in order.

Bilbo sat carefully in the hospital chair, very aware of the warm bundle in his arms. He pulled back the soft, floral blanket to reveal a head of messy dark hair and rosy cheeks. The baby stirred, opened his eyelids, and looked up at Bilbo with his giant blue eyes; blinking lazily as he slowly awoke.

“Oh Prim, he is just so lovely!”

She laughed tiredly from where she was lying in the hospital bed and beamed over at him as she squeezed her husband’s hand, Drogo perched on the bed beside her. “He really is something, isn’t he?”

Bilbo ran a finger over Frodo’s chubby cheeks, gazing into bottomless blue eyes. “He really is…”

Drogo chuckled as he put an arm around his beaming wife. “We best be careful, love. Old Bilbo there looks like he’s contemplating stealing our son from right under our noses.”

“Hey! Only older by a year, you git.”

_ “Boys.” _ Prim chided, no real heat to it. “Not so loud, Frodo need to get back to sleep.”

Frodo let out a small sigh and kicked his legs, turned his head and nuzzled into the crook of Bilbo’s elbow.

Bilbo absolutely melted. “Well it’s official - I’m  _ definitely _ stealing him.”

Drogo laughed softly, shaking his head. “How about you take the night shift, eh? You can have the screaming and feeding; we’ll take the park trips and afternoon naps. Deal?”

“Well when you put it like  _ that… _ ”

Prim boxed her husband in the shoulder. “Hey, no pawning off our son to members of the family. You’re a father now, time to act like one.”

Bilbo smiled fondly at the two of them, cuddling Frodo a little closer. “Christ, Drogo, you’re a father now. How wild is that!”

He ran his hand through his hair, grinning. “I know. I’m still getting used to it, to be honest. I’m tired, but I’m so happy.”

Prim arched an eyebrow. “ _You’re tired_? You poor thing! Those nine hours of labour must have been _so_ exhausting for you, holding my hand and drinking all that tea.”

“Prim, love, you know what I mean!” He offered, smiling apologetically.

Bilbo snorted. “Just give up, mate. You know she wins every time.”

She kissed Drogo on the cheek, making his smile shine even brighter. “I really do, love. You’re useless against me and I love you for it.”

He grumbled under his breath. “…’m not useless.”

“Drogo, every time you see an actor you recognise, you always start it with ‘You know that man! He was in that film! You know! The one with the end of the world’ or _something_ just as vague… I’m sorry to say but you’re a _tad_ useless.” Bilbo leant back on the armchair carefully, crossing his legs. “Let’s just hope it isn’t genetic for Frodo’s sake.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. You’re family, Bilbo. You’re meant to defend me.”

“Against Prim?” He shook his head, tutting. “You’re on your own, mate. Made that mistake once and I’ll never make it again.”

“Wise words.” She kissed her husband on the cheek, removing the pout from his face. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me, love.” Prim held Drogo by his chin and steered him into a long kiss, making Bilbo release a childish ‘yuck’ to stop the display of affection getting out of hand.

“Guys, come on! Audience here!”

Drogo chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, mate. It’s all just a bit exciting, you know?” He squinted his eyes, observing Bilbo keenly. “Speaking of which, looks like you’ve had a bit of excitement yourself, something’s different about you.”

Bilbo spluttered. “No-nothing has changed. Nope. Nothing at all.”

“Wow, that lie was even worse than one of my Drogo’s.” Prim added, rolling her eyes.

“Why is everyone challenging what I say today, Christ! Nothing has happened; you’ve just got baby-brains. It’s all the hormones in the room.”

“Easy there, Bilbo.” Prim warned.

“Yes, sorry. But you’re definitely seeing things.” He looked down at Frodo. “Hopefully you won’t be as ridiculous as your parents when you grow up, my boy.”

“Wait. Oh my God. You’ve  _ met someone. _ ” She accused, covering her mouth excitedly with one hand.

“What? No! How did you jump to that conclusion!” He responded, blushing bright red.

“It’s obvious! Why, I’ve never seen you so clucky.”

“Have you  _ seen _ your son? He is adorable! Nobody is immune to those big blue eyes!"

Prim pointed an accusing finger at him. “It’s painted all over your face, you’re not fooling me.” She sat up straighter in bed. “So, what’s their name? Tell us  _ everything. _ ”

Bilbo groaned. “You’re imagining things, really.”

“I’m right, and you know it. Fess up.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s _something!_ ” She gestured towards him, pointing at his face. “I mean, look at you! You’re all… _cute_. I’ve never seen you like this, except at the start of your relationship with James.”

“Oh God, do  _ not _ mention that name around me ever again.”

Prim gasped, leaning forward. “Why? Did that fucker text you or something?”

“Fucking-no, calm down woman!” He took a breath and rubbed his face, suddenly exhausted. “I just was reminded recently that he has a certain photo… of me doing something… unsavoury.”

“Please tell me he doesn’t have a pic of you doing something dirty to yourself, I really don’t need that mental image right now.” She scrunched her nose.

“Uhh… more like doing it to  _ him. _ ”

“Honey, you know better than to have your mug in those pictures, faceless is always safest, not to shame you or anything. Sadly you can’t be too careful these days...” She paused. “Now that I think of it, you really  _ were  _ young when you were with him, weren’t you.”

“Yes, so leave off. I wasn’t thinking!”

She held up her hands. “I wasn’t teasing, promise. What you do with your partners is your prerogative, as long as it’s all consensual and nobody gets hurt… But is this why you’re so hesitant with your new someone? Worried about the past coming up?”

Bilbo groaned. “No.  _ Well, yes _ . But mostly no.”

“Wow, that was so straightforward, thanks for that Bilbo.”

“There’s no new  _ somebody _ , so just calm yourself.”

“Sure there isn’t.” Prim hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin with her fingers. “So, your  _ not-somebody _ , they cute?”

“He’s a twat.”

“Ooh, _He?”_ She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “And if _He_ is, you’ll get on famously, then.”

“Hey!”

Drogo chuckled and stood up, then walked over to where Bilbo was sitting by the bed. “It’s time to put him off to bed, let me just scoop him up.” Bilbo shot him a grumpy look as Drogo leaned forward and supported his son’s head with one hand, and held his body with the other, pulling him out of Bilbo’s arms and into his own.

Bilbo smiled up at them softly, missing the warm bundle in his arms. “If you ever need a babysitter, you know who to call.”

“Yes, and we’ll never get him back.” Drogo replied as he walked over to the crib and placed his son carefully down, tucking him in. He returned back to the bed, wrapping an arm around his wife once more. “So, did you end up calling that Sandyman boy?”

“Yeah, he’s coming in tomorrow for a trial. Hopefully he isn’t completely useless.”

Drogo hummed in agreement. “I swear I’ll come back as soon as I can, you can’t run the place with just you and a young lad for too long.”

“I said to stop worrying about that and come back when it’s the right time for you two, you berk.”

“That’s all well and good for us, Bilbo, but you have a business to run.” Prim added, crossing her arms.

He sighed. “Guys, you just had a _baby_. Please just worry about yourselves for once and focus on Frodo, I have this sorted.”

“You promise to call us if something cocks up?”

Bilbo stood, cricking his back. “Yes, yes. Stop fussing.” He walked over and gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “And this has been lovely, but I really must be off. I have to go have dinner with some of the politician’s mates, his p.a. texted just as I got here. Should be interesting.”

Prim grinned up at him slyly. “And your  _ not-somebody _ , he going to be there?”

“No, thank Christ. He’s off being a prat somewhere else.”

“I’m sure you’re heartbroken. Now tell me - how pert is his arse?”

“ _ Goodbye _ , Prim.” He replied sternly as she flipped him off, making his grin widen. “You’re a mother, best start acting like one.”

“ _ Fuck off _ .”

\---

Bilbo smoothed down the front of his navy dress shirt, nervously shifting his weight from side to side as he stood at the B&B front door, waiting for someone to let him in. He rang the doorbell again, peering through the window on the tip of his toes to see if anyone was coming to fetch him. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time, tapping the glass impatiently. If he knew he was going to be outside in the cold for so long he would have brought a damn jacket, his maroon trousers and cotton shirt did nothing against the crisp night air.

Muffled and down the hallway, frantic footsteps approached. “I’m so sorry!” The front door was pulled open, revealing a flushed and slightly panting Ori, in his usual grey knitted bits and pieces, matched with black skinny jeans and a white shirt. “We were all in the back sitting room and didn’t hear the bell, you must be freezing!” He pulled Bilbo into a warm hug and gestured for him to come inside the warm cottage.

“It’s no problem, really.”

Ori winced. “I’m so sorry, really! Here, let me help you with that.” He pulled one of the two bottles of red wine out of Bilbo’s grasp, reading the label. “Ooh this looks lovely, my brother Dori will be pleased. He enjoys a good Grenache.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Bilbo took a step towards him, lowering his voice. “So, who am I meeting tonight, again?”

“Oh, right!” Ori beamed, pulling his iPhone out of his pocket, and opened his photo gallery. “This is Dori, my oldest brother.” He swiped to a picture of a smiling man, who looked like he was in his mid-forties, and was sipping from a dainty floral teacup. His long grey hair was pulled into a topknot, his short beard immaculately trimmed, and he was in a fine three-piece suit with a maroon waistcoat. “Mum had him fifteen years before me, and he sort of helped raise me… warning, he’s bit of a fusspot. He’s the fundraising director for Thorin… so essentially he knows anyone who’s anyone, and really knows how to host. And do small-talk.”

“He looks the type, I can absolutely see him mingling with rich twats.”

The p.a. giggled and swiped through his gallery to another picture, this time showing a grinning red-haired man with some of the longest and most ridiculous eyebrows the Hobbit had ever seen. Bilbo said as much and was swatted for his rude observation. “Don’t let Nori hear you say that, he’ll make you regret it. He _knows things_.” Ori said mysteriously as he swiped to the next photo, revealing Nori surrounded by complicated and expensive looking tech equipment, smiling up at the camera with a big mug of coffee in one hand and typing with the other.

“Wait - I thought you said he worked in  _ social media _ , the man looks like he works for M16!” Bilbo whispered urgently, pointing at the phone.

“I mean… he does have a small collection of computers and the like, but nothing too extreme.” Ori replied, frowning at his phone.

“He looks like a bloody Quartermaster from James Bond!”

Ori zoomed into the background of the picture, where machines and monitors covered the wall from floor to ceiling. “No he doesn’t…”

Bilbo pinched his brow, trying to calm himself. “I’ll deal with this later. Now, who else am I meeting?”

“Just Bombur and his brother Bofur.” Ori counted on his fingers, putting his iPhone back in his pocket. “Bombur is our cook when we’re on the road, and Bofur-”

“-is completely able to introduce himself, thank you very much.”

Bilbo and Ori spun around, greeted by the cheeky grin and twinkling eyes of the intruder. He had long dark-brown hair, which was pulled back into a plait down his back, and topped with a ridiculous furry grey hat with earflaps that stuck out comically at the sides. He had a trimmed goatee and moustache, which he was fiddling with as he watched them amusedly; and was wearing a casual pair of dark jeans, a chunky brown cardigan, a striped maroon scarf, and ratty grey mittens. It seemed Ori wasn’t the only knitting enthusiast.

Bofur walked over and gripped Bilbo’s hand, giving him a solid handshake. “So this is the local Fili and Kili have been raving about.”

“Uh, I suppose so?”

He laughed warmly, clapping him on the back, one hand still clasped with the Hobbit. “I heard you gave Thorin a run for his money this morning. Good on you! He’s got a stick so far up his arse, he-”

“-Bofur!” Ori chided, swiping him on the shoulder.

“Right, right. Keep forgetting I can’t slander Thorin’s almighty name in his p.a.'s presence.”

Ori huffed, crossing his arms. ‘You work for him too, you should show him more respect.”

Bofur chuckled. “Lad, I work _with_ him, not _for_ him, and I've never signed a contract.” He snorted. "I’ve seen him drunk and make an arse out of himself so many times I’ve lost count, there’s no way in hell he’s my fecking _boss_.”

Bilbo grinned up at him. “I think we should  _ definitely _ be friends. And you need to tell me more about all the embarrassing things Thorin has done.”

“Lad, there _aren't_ _hours in the day_ for all I have to say about that man fucking things up.”

Ori groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you two, I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

“Enough of that, lad. Let’s go introduce Bilbo to the family.”

Bilbo held up the bottle of wine. “Uh, and I brought this?”

“Good, lad.” Bofur winked. "You’ll need it.”

\---

And he did need it.

Bilbo finished his second glass of wine and leant back in his chair, silently observing the chaos that was unfolding around him. His new companions, when it came down to dinnertime, were absolute _barbarians._

Everyone was yelling over one another, rolls of bread were being thrown, and Dori was just sitting calmly in the corner, the only person who seemed to be using their cutlery for its intended use. Bofur had thrown a boiled egg right into his brother’s mouth and the whole table had erupted with cheers, Nori standing up on his chair and shaking his fists excitedly.

When Bilbo was invited to dinner he expected the usual scenario, where mellow music was played in the background and small talk was exchanged. Perhaps a group discussion would occur over the cheese platter about a certain film, or an episode of Strictly that had just aired. You know, the usual…

But no. This was some medieval feast shenanigans; Bilbo was half expecting a mangy dog to come out of nowhere and start licking their hands as they continued eating, or a minstrel to appear and pull out a fucking  _ lute. _

“You alright there, lad?”

Bilbo snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at Bofur, who leaned forward and topped up his and Bilbo’s wine glasses. “It’s just a little louder than I’m used to, is all.”

“Aye, sorry about all this, we haven’t been in the same place for a while. Not to worry though, we’ll get it all out of our system soon.”

“Right.”

Tiny footsteps sounded in the distance, and a mop of ginger curls popped up by Bilbo’s side, attached to the impish grin and flushed cheeks of little Sam Gamgee. Louder steps were heard closing in, announcing the arrival of the boy’s father, who leant against the doorway, red-faced and puffing.

Sam squealed at the prospect of being caught by his father and climbed into Bilbo’s lap, putting his small arms around Bilbo’s shoulders as Bilbo steadied the excited boy, and ensured nothing  _ delicate _ would be trampled on by little Hobbit feet.

“Da, no!” He giggled, burying his face in Bilbo’s neck. “Save me Mister Bilbo!”

“Oh Bilbo I’m so sorry to interrupt your dinner there, Sam’s been so cheeky today. Little tyke ran straight through my legs and out his bedroom door, he did.”

Bilbo chuckled, patting Sam’s back fondly. “It’s quite alright, Hamfast.”

Hamfast pushed his red curls out of his eyes, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. “Lad’s far too fast for his age, he is. Fatherhood is making me fitter.”

“Think of it as a blessing, I suppose. You’ll never need a gym membership.”

He laughed warmly as he entered the room and ruffled Sam’s hair fondly. “I really won’t, all the chasing I do after this little troublemaker.”

“I’m a good boy, Da! I just wanted to see Mister Bilbo!” Sam whined, wrapping his arms just a little to tightly around Bilbo’s neck.

Bilbo pulled Sam’s arms carefully from around his neck and sat him down sideways on his lap, supporting his back with one hand. “And you have now, my little man, but your Da was putting you to bed and it’s getting late.”

Sam scrunched his face, letting out a high-pitched whine. “But I want to stay with you! You always tell the best stories!”

“Yes, but Mister Bilbo is having dinner with his friends, you can see him sometime later. Would you like it if somebody interrupted your dinner?” His father asked, hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

Sam looked up at Bilbo, eyes wide. “Oh no! Mister Bilbo, did I ruin your dinner?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Sam. You’re just fine.” He looked up at Hamfast, smiling cheekily. “But I think you’ve made your Da nearly pop a lung with all your running about.”

Hamfast patted his belly, nodding. “Aye, your Da isn’t used to doing all this exercise you’ve had him doing lately, my little fox cub.”

Sam giggled, covering his mouth with his hands. “Sorry, Da.”

“You’re alright, lad.” He laid a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Though if it’s alright with Mister Bilbo, you can sit with him for a little bit while I go and run your bath. How does that sound?”

He looked up at Bilbo, wiggling excitedly in his lap. “Please, Mister Bilbo? I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour and won’t run away or nothin’!”

“It would be my pleasure, my little man. You’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Yes!” He whooped, lifting his little chubby arms excitedly.

“Careful there, lad. Don’t want to knock over Mister Bilbo’s wine.”

“Whoops.” Sam sat up straight in Bilbo’s lap, putting his hands carefully on his little, scuffed knees. “I’ll just sit here like this, you won’t have to worry about me, nah-uh.”

Bilbo grinned down at him. “What excellent posture, Sam.” He winked up at Hamfast. “I’ve got him, you can do all your _fathery_ _business_ and come back when you need him, he’s fine here.”

Hamfast squeezed Bilbo's shoulder. “You should come around more often, become my Sam-catcher when it’s bathtime.”

Sam giggled, shaking his head so fast his curls became a red blur. “That’s silly, Da. Then he’ll be here all the time!”

“Well, it’s still a good idea anyways.” He winked at Bilbo. “Nevermind, I’ll be back soon to fetch you.” Hamfast walked out the door, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“Now, Sam, I have some people to introduce you to. This is Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Nori and Dori. They work with Mister Thorin.” He pointed at them all in turn, Sam nodding his head when each name was called out.

“I know, Mister Bilbo! They all live here, silly billy.”

Bilbo blinked. “Oh. Of course.”

Bofur poked Sam in the side, making him squeal. “Aye, I’ve been chasing this little tyke around the garden all afternoon, cheeky lad stole my hat!”

“I thought there was a kitten hiding in there!” Sam exclaimed, bobbing his head up and down. “It’s so fluffy- I thought it was alive!”

The table erupted into hoots of laughter, Bofur crossing his arms and shooting them all a sour look. “This hat is made of the finest and rarest wool, you uncultured swine... And it's won me a few  _ unforgettable nights _ , if you must know.” He added, eyes twinkling cheekily.

Bilbo covered Sam’s ears, making the young boy giggle. “Hey, children at the table!”

Bofur shot him his most innocent look, crossing his legs as he lent back in his chair. “I merely meant meeting some fellow hat enthusiasts and sharing a civilised conversation over a pint. You really must get your mind out of the gutter, lad.”

He released Sam’s ears, rolling his eyes. “Of course,  _ my _ mind.”

“Aye, Bilbo.”

Sam tapped Bilbo’s shoulder politely, leaning up to talk in his ear. “There wasn’t a kitten hiding in there at all, it just smelt of old mouldy socks.” Sam wrinkled his nose comically, as if smelling the dreaded hat once more.

The group burst back into raucous laughter, and Bombur slapped his belly loudly, wiping away a tear. “Oh, this boy is brilliant. We’ve got to have him around more often!” 

“Cheeky lad reminds me of Kili when he was his age. Always running about and causing some trouble.” Dori added, smiling fondly the young boy.

“Remember when Kili was a wee bairn and put his porridge in Thorin’s shoes so he didn’t have to eat it?!” Bofur paused and slapped his own thigh, keeling forward in his chair. “I have never seen Thorin so conflicted, he wanted to laugh and yell at that poor boy at the same time, went bright red he did, I thought his head might explode.”

Bombur laughed so hard his beer came out of his nose, making the rest of the group except Bilbo cheer, Sam standing up in Bilbo’s lap to get a better view of the spluttering mess. “You  _ arse, _ I was drinking and everything!” He chided as he wiped beer out of his large ginger beard with a soggy napkin.

“Arse!” Sam echoed excitedly, making Bilbo wince and the rest of the table cheer and raise their glasses to the boy.

“No my dear, we can’t say that word. It’s a rude adult word.” Bilbo said, trying his best to keep a straight face.

Sam frowned, looking down at him. “What, like  _ cock? _ ”

The table burst into laughter once more, Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes. “And  _ where _ did you hear that?”

He pointed a chubby finger at Ori, who was blushing a brighter shade of red by the minute.

“Ori!?” Bilbo asked incredulously, leaning forward in his seat, “are you serious?”

Ori spluttered, covering his mouth with one hand. “I was on the phone, I- I didn’t know he was standing behind me and listening in until I turned around and he asked me what it meant.”

Bilbo covered his eyes with one hand, the other arm wrapped around Sam’s middle to keep him from falling. “And please do tell me Ori, what did you say it means?”

“Uhh… that it’s a boy’s willy?” He replied, scrunching his face apologetically.

The hooting and hollering increased in volume, making Ori’s blush deepen further. Sam, unsure of exactly what was going on, jumped up and down, thinking he had told a funny joke and made them all laugh. “I have a willy! It floats when I’m in the bath!”

“Good for you, Sam.” Bilbo groaned, trying with all his might not to clobber all other members at the table, who were now red-faced and barking with laughter between pained breaths.

Sam turned around in his grip, nodding enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I also have a blue boat and a dinosaur and a bear called Susan!”

“Thank goodness _ , _ we’re back to suitable dinner conversation.”

Bofur clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, wiping a tear away with the other hand. “It’s all right, lad. He’s a young boy who asks a million questions a minute, he’s bound to hear the odd curse word now and then.”

“Yes, I hear you - but if that word is repeated to Bell and she knows I was somehow involved, I will have my bollocks handed to me on a silver platter.” He whispered back, cupping Sam’s ears.

“You’re right, she  _ definitely _ would.”

Bilbo removed his hands from Sam’s ears and pulled him down gently to sit on his lap. “Can we  _ please _ remain on a clean topic for once, while we have a young guest?”

Sam crossed his arms huffily. “I’m nearly six, I’m not that little.”

Dori cooed, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh bless him, he’s as stubborn as Ori was at his age.”

“Please don’t start, you were doing this all morning.” Ori groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“You were an independent little lad, like Sam over here. Didn’t need nobody’s help or nothing, bless you.”

Bofur reached forward and pinched Ori’s cheek, making him slap his hand away and cross his arms huffily, mirroring Sam. “And look, now they even have matching pouts! I feel like I’m seeing double!”

Bilbo shot him a sympathetic look, getting the feeling that this happened a lot. Ori smiled back wearily, shrugging.

Nori coughed loudly and with purpose, bringing a halt to the teasing. “Alright, leave off Ori, lads. That’s quite enough.” He took a long sip of his wine, nodding towards Bilbo. “Bilbo has been a gracious guest all night and held his tongue, and I think he deserves a few answers.”

The group quieted instantly, Bofur making silencing gestures with his hand by his throat.

Sam turned around in Bilbo’s lap, feet tucking under him. “What did you want to ask, Mister Bilbo? Is this about the bad word I said before?”

He wrapped his arms around the boy, shaking his head. “No Sam, you just don’t say that word again, all right? You’ve done nothing wrong.” Bilbo cleared his throat and took a careful sip of wine, holding Sam close as he leaned forward. He looked Nori in the eye, searching for a hint of mockery, and found none. “I want to know why you left Erebor.”

Nori nodded solemnly, crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Fair enough question. We left Erebor because we were forced out, our mines became dangerous and we all had to leave.”

“That’s awful!”

“Indeed it was, there were riots and everythin'. We were only given two days notice to move out before we would be thrown out. _Forcefully_.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. The entire island had to be evacuated, as well as our trade port, Dale.” He looked out the window pensively. "It’s all abandoned now; a huge fence has been built around the place. Nobody gets in or out.”

“Why didn’t I see this in the news? There must have been hundreds of refugees, I've heard absolutely  _ nothing. _ ”

“Thousands.” Nori took another sip of wine. “Let’s just say it was silenced by people in high places.”

“ _ Christ _ .” Bilbo slumped down in his chair, pulling Sam a little closer. “And let me guess who ran this operation… Smaug?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I’m at liberty to say, Bilbo. It isn’t my place to talk about Smaug, that’s Thorin’s personal business.”

Bilbo worried at his bottom lip, going over all the information in his head. “Right. I’ll just have to ask him again.”

“I’d tell you more if I could, mate.”

“I appreciate the honesty, really. It’s refreshing… Anything else you can tell me?”

Nori scratched at his ginger beard, staring at the roof thoughtfully. “The anniversary is coming up soon, so Thorin will be extra touchy about it. He lost his brother and parents, so it’s a rough time for him.”

He winced sympathetically. “How long has it been?”

“Coming on fifteen years, it is. Fili and Kili can’t even remember the place.”

“Aye, the lads were only six and seven when it happened.” Bofur added, shaking his head.

“So… where did you all go when it happened?”

Bofur hummed thoughtfully and filled up his glass. “A small town in the north of Scotland, just in the Blue Mountains. It’s a nice enough place, and we made do, but it still isn’t home.” He sighed. "Not for us who can remember Erebor, anyways.”

“Why didn’t you call the police? Or get the Government involved?”

Nori laughed bitterly. “Mate, it was the bleedin’ Government who kicked us  _ out _ .”

“No, that can’t be! This is all so far-fetched, it sounds ridiculous.”

“I’m not lying, Bilbo, I swear. Just answering your questions.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Is this why you have all that tech?”

Nori shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. I like to know what’s being said, it keeps me informed.”

He slumped in his chair. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve never heard about any of this…”

“It’s ‘cos you were never meant to, Bilbo.  _ Nobody was. _ ”

\---

Bilbo wobbled out the front door, held up by a giggling Ori, who was trying his best to keep himself upright as well. After Sam had been taken back by Hamfast and put to bed, Bofur had thought it would be a brilliant idea to play some drinking games… which Ori and Bilbo both lost disastrously. And subsequently the two were now absolutely and thoroughly shitfaced.

“I swear, I am going to bloody kill you lot tomorrow morning when I wake up, I am going to be _so_ hungover.” Bilbo moaned as he leant against the door frame while Ori closed it behind them carefully, trying not to wake the entire cottage. “I was hungover this morning! And I will be again tomorrow!” He sniffed loudly. "You lot drink too much."

Ori nodded. “I’ve had so much, I’m still going to be drunk by lunchtime.” He slurred as he took a careful and calculated step forward, leaning on the opposite wall to Bilbo.

Bilbo giggled, covering his mouth with one hand. “You are so  _ fucked _ .”

The p.a. wobbled to one side, a dopey smile playing on his face as he closed his eyes. “Mmhmm why yes I am, thank you ma’am.”

The Hobbit stifled another giggle and took a heavy step forward, popped his shirt collar, and pulled his arms around himself. “Thank fuck I’m so drunk, otherwise I would be freezing my tits off right now.”

“You don’t have any tits, you tit.”

“ _ Fine _ , bollocks then. My lovely, lovely bollocks are about to freeze, turn black, and fall right off.”

Ori scrunched up his face. “That’s awful. D-Don’t say that ever again, shhh.” He started sliding down the wall, making Bilbo have to lurch forward and save him.

“Christ, what is that smell?  _ Coffee Patron? _ ”

Bilbo turned his head sluggishly, recognising Dwalin’s voice, and beamed up at him and Thorin, who were standing and watching them, arms crossed.

He winked at them coyly. “Well hey there, pretty boys.”

“ _Pretty boys?”_ Thorin asked, thoroughly dumbfounded, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. Pretty boys. Bros. Brothers…  _ Brethren? _ ”

Ori laughed loudly, snorting at the end. “Oh my God, how old are you? You did not just quote  _ She’s the Man.” _

“That film is a fucking cinematic  _ masterpiece _ , you t-twat.” Bilbo replied as his knees gave out a little, and Thorin lunged forward to catch him just in time.

Thorin adjusted his grip, holding Bilbo by the sides. “You smell like a Brewery.”

“It’s all the rage, I c-call it  _ Eau de Brewery _ .” Bilbo giggled at his own joke and eyed him lazily, eyelids heavy with all the alcohol in his veins. “Y-you smell like-” he leaned forward and sniffed Thorin, slipping even more, and ended up in the politician's arms. “-heh. Aftershave and… Whiskey.”

Thorin groaned. “Please don’t tell me Bofur decided to play some of his infamous drinking games with you two lightweights.”

Ori hiccupped and slid down the wall, making Dwalin also do a dive for the drunk. He blushed and batted his eyelashes up at Dwalin, smiling apologetically. “H-he said we had to initiate Bilbo into the team. So now he’s one of us!”

The p.a.’s knees completely buckled, and Dwalin let out a "oh no you don’t!" as he pulled the p.a. into his arms bridal style, looking like he was about to carry Ori across the threshold in some ridiculous romance film. “I’m going to go put this one to bed, you take Bilbo home.” Dwalin grunted as he ignored Ori’s irritated squeaks, opened the door to the cottage, and closed it behind them.

Bilbo peered up at Thorin, who was glaring daggers into the space that Dwain had just occupied. “Uh, I think I’m much better now, the fresh air has started to clear my head. Really.”

“You can’t even stand, I’m walking you home.”

He shrugged his shoulders out of Thorin’s grip and wobbled to the side, putting his arms out to steady himself, then grinned up at him. “See? Totally fine.”

Thorin crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Take two steps and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Done. Want a kiss to seal the deal?” He asked, batting his eyelashes.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re moody.”

Thorin laughed softly, shaking his head. “I have been told that before, yes.”

Bilbo eyed him keenly. “And you’re kind. R-Really,  _ really _ kind.” He hiccuped loudly. “When you’re not being a  _ twat. _ ”

“For your sake, I hope you don’t remember this tomorrow.”

He took one step forward. “Well then maybe I should do something stupid, since it doesn’t matter, and I won’t remember.”

“I’m not doing this when you’re drunk.”

“So you  _ do _ want to do this?”

“I’m not having this  _ conversation _ while you’re drunk.”

Bilbo took his second step forward and bit his bottom lip, giving Thorin a solid eyefucking from the ground up. “ _ Nevermind _ , I’ve made my two required steps.”

He shrugged indifferently and side-stepped Thorin, walking briskly up the hill, only swaying a little.

“Send me a text when you get home safe, you idiot.” He heard Thorin yell behind him.

He raised both middle fingers above his head in response and continued his walk up the hill, wobbling triumphantly towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Bilbo, your poor liver must be weeping right now.
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.


	5. Tea by the Fireside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin attempts to talk about his feelings with an extremely patient Balin,  
> Bilbo gets some new neighbours,  
> And tea is shared by the fireside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/trigger warning: non-graphic family/parent death mention and discussion

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head. That Bilbo was really something else. He watched the Hobbit’s wobbling silhouette disappear down the road until it faded from view and he  headed inside the B&B, loosening the olive green tie around his neck.

The day had been long and exhausting - scouting Hobbiton with Balin and Dwalin had been a momentous task - but thankfully they had been rewarded for their efforts with some quality Whiskey at the local tavern, The Green Dragon. The locals had mostly kept their distance, but one or two nosey Hobbits had interrupted their drink to introduce themselves, chatting excitedly about farming and other Hobbiton fancies. The questions were harmless enough, but there was an unspoken undertone to their queries - _who are you and what are you doing here._

Thorin wrapped up their socialising pretty quickly after that.

He sighed as he entered the kitchen and ran into Bofur’s side, not seeing the man around the corner, and was met by the view of him leaning forward into the fridge in just his red pants.

Bofur pulled out a carton of milk, took a swig, and winked at Thorin. “Careful where you’re walking there, Thorin. People might think it’s you that’s had too much liquor, not me.”

”Delightful, really.” Thorin crossed his arms. “Oh, and thank you for  _ initiating _ our resident Hobbit. I just had to help a very drunk and extra-fiesty Bilbo Baggins out our front door.”

“Aye, I may have had something to do with that. But I’m not sorry, mind you - that lad has some of the best stories I have ever heard!” Bofur took another swig from the milk carton and wiped his moustache clean with the back of his hand. “Whoever started the rumour that village life is quiet or boring has no idea what they’re talking about.”

“He could barely walk home, Bofur.”

His eyes twinkled. “Well, maybe you should have been a gentleman and walked him all the way up to his cosy little cottage on the hill. Maybe even shared a cheeky little nightcap.” He leant back against the wall, fiddling with his moustache. “It’s been a while since you’ve shared a  _ nightcap _ with anyone, come to think of it. You’ve got to be careful Thorin, don’t want any cobwebs forming where the sun don’t shine.”

“Please. Stop.” Thorin pleaded, covering his eyes. “We are not discussing this in the kitchen at 1am with you standing there in just your pants.”

“Enjoying the view, eh?” He teased, wiggling his hips. “But never mind that, let me ask - will you talk to anyone about this _thing_ with Bilbo? I know you’ve got the whole…” he gestured at Thorin from head to toe, “...mysterious and broody act going on, but you really need to start talking, Thorin. You’re locked up like a vault, you are. It’s not healthy.”

“I know you like to think that you’re a relationship expert when you’re drunk, but I’ve had one hell of a day and really don’t want to be probed about my  _ feelings. _ ”

“Fine, fine. I’m backing off.” He raised his hands in surrender. “All I’ll say is, Bilbo is a top lad, and you could do a lot worse.”

“ _ Bofur _ …” Thorin warned.

He looked at Thorin earnestly. “At least open up to Dwalin about it?”

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, that’s a  _ no _ then.”

“I said. _I’ll_ _think_ _about it._ ” He repeated sternly, through gritted teeth.

Bofur took another sip from the carton in his hand, humming thoughtfully. “You’re different around young Mr Baggins, you know that?”

“I said we’re not discussing this-“

“-you don’t  _ brood _ as much. Heavens, I even saw you  _ smile _ when you came in here a few moments ago, after saying goodnight to our dear Hobbit.” He continues, swinging the carton around as he gestured.

“ _ Bofur _ .” Thorin warned again, jaw clenching.

“Of course, you’ll have to keep in mind he’s much smaller than you. Remember that when you two finally sort out this _tension_ that's been brewing _,_ and you throw him onto your bed and-”

“-Enough!” Thorin barked, silencing his half-naked companion. “Just… let me talk it out with Dwalin, all right? Will that shut you up?”

Bofur raised an eyebrow. “You better.”

“I will.”

He rolled his eyes, put the milk back in the fridge and gestured for Thorin to head out of the room before him. “Well, go on then?  _ Age before beauty _ .”

“Prick _.” _

\--- 

Thorin knocked on Dwalin’s bedroom door softly, trying not to rouse the rest of the slumbering cottage. The light was on in the bedroom, casting a faint orange glow from under the door, but still no answer. He knocked again, slightly louder, but nothing stirred.

Assuming Dwalin had his headphones on and was listening to music on his bed, which was often the case, Thorin opened the door slowly and peered into the room, only to be met by an empty bed. “Alright then…” He muttered to himself, taking a step inside to look around for his closest friend.

He heard a polite cough from behind and turned to see Balin looking at him with a soft smile. "He checked on poor Ori, you can go see him in there.”

“Brilliant. Right.”

Balin watched him curiously, his warm brown eyes scanning. “If he’s indisposed, you do know you can come talk to me, laddie.”

Thorin nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“Even if it’s about Mister Bilbo.”

“God, not you too.” He winced.

“Aye,  _ me too _ .” Balin patted Thorin on the arm. “You’re many things, Thorin, but subtle is not one of them I'm afraid.”

“How did you know?” He asked, fiddling with his loose tie.

“Well, for starters, you two fight like cats and dogs.”

Thorin snorted. “The man is  _ impossible _ .”

Balin beamed up at him. “And you’re so easy to get along with, hmm?”

“You  _ may _ be right…”

“It happens more often than you’d think.” He teased, no real heat to it. “But never mind that, you’d best be off and find Dwalin. He’ll be in Ori’s room.”

Thorin nodded and walked out to the hallway, closing the door quietly behind them. “Night, Balin.”

“Yes, yes. Now off with you!” He shooed Thorin towards Ori’s door, laughing softly to himself. “Go gossip over your beau’s and braid each other's hair, I’ll be in my room.”

“Your brother is bald, Balin." Thorin pointed out flatly.

“Fine, you can braid his  _ beard _ , then.”

He flipped Balin off jokingly and headed towards Ori’s door, where he knocked once, heard some movement behind the door, and opened it slowly. He squinted and took a step inside, thankful that the bedside lamp was on and filling the room with a soft, warm light. The last thing he needed was to trip over something on the floor and maim himself. Or for him to have walked in on Dwalin and Ori doing something  _ adult _ in the dark.

He shook his head, removing the scarring mental image of his best mate _ not-wrestling _ with his p.a..  This was not the time for such things, he had to find Dwalin and talk through whatever the hell was going on between the fussy Hobbit and himself.

After collecting his errant thoughts, he took another step inside the room and looked around, eyes searching for the familiar bulk of Dwalin's frame. 

Ori was passed out in his bed face first in just his pants, a quilt thrown haphazardly over his back. Thorin stifled a laugh behind one hand, his p.a. looked thoroughly wrecked - limbs akimbo and hair an absolute mess, poking out in all directions. His hangover was going to be _horrific_ come Saturday morning.

Thorin entered the room slowly so as not to awaken the snoring drunk beauty, but Dwalin was nowhere to be seen. He rounded the bed and froze, unsure exactly what he was seeing. Dwalin was passed out on the floor by the bed, barefoot yet still in his suit, a pillow under his head and floral crochet quilt thrown over his legs. He was lying on his side with one hand under his head, the other hand holding Ori’s, whose arm had fallen out of bed and landed right on his.

Good Lord he was going to give Dwalin so much shit for this later.

Ori had a soft smile on his face in his sleep, and Dwalin’s massive fingers were laced with the younger man’s delicate ones so gently and softly, barely holding on. Thorin took his iPhone out and snuck a quick photo, just in case he needed to use it for blackmail later. Dwalin kept tabs on him and gave him grief far too often, this photo would most definitely come in handy if he needed Dwalin to ease off a bit. Or if he needed a favour.

Treading softly, Thorin exited the room and walked into his own. He pulled off his tie and shirt and swapped the day’s suit for navy pyjama bottoms and his old grey Oxford hoodie. He washed his face in the adjoining en-suite and pulled out his phone, shooting Balin a quick text.

**Thorin Durin: Still awake?**

**Balin Fundinson: Aye**

**Thorin Durin: Free to talk?**

**Balin Fundinson: I’m always free for you, Thorin. I’ll pop over in a jiffy. Be a sport and bring out that fine Scotch I know you have ‘hidden' in your desk.**

**Thorin Durin: Of course. See you soon.**

Thorin picked up some discarded trousers from his bedroom floor and tidied the room a bit, ensuring it was fit for a guest. The secret Scotch was retrieved from it’s not-so-secret hiding spot, as were two crystal glasses and some gourmet dark chocolate he had picked up at the airport. He set the items up on the small wooden table between the two maroon velvet armchairs in the corner of his room, poured a glass for himself, and waited. 

Not five minutes later a polite knock sounded at the door and Balin’s head came into view, beaming when he caught sight of the late night spread. He pulled his fluffy red dressing gown tighter around his waist and shuffled in, closing the door behind himself.

Balin rubbed his hands together, eyeing the table's contents before him. “Why how thoughtful of you Thorin, you even have my favourite chocolate.” 

He gestured for the older man to join him, pouring him a glass. “Aye, I saw it at the airport and thought it might come in handy for one of these late night stretches we always seem to have when travelling together.” 

“We do seem to have them a lot, don’t we?” He took a sip and hummed appreciatively. “Though I must warn you - when you do become PM I expect a raise. These long hours have started to take their toll, I’m not as young as I used to be. ” 

Thorin nodded as he crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair. “Consider it done.” 

“Cheers to that.” He raised his glass, chinked it with Thorin’s, and took a small sip. “Now I may be getting old, Thorin, but I don’t think you invited me here tonight _just_ to give me a raise?”

“I went to talk over some things with Dwalin and he was… busy.” 

Balin raised both eyebrows, shooting him a cheeky smile. “Did my useless brother finally get his act together with young Ori, then?”

He shook his head. “I fear Ori was unconscious for his small act of interest. I caught Dwalin holding his hand while they slept... while he lay on the floor next to my p.a.’s bed, that is.”

“Oh bless. He’s always been a real romantic, that brother mine.”

Thorin hummed in agreement, nibbling on a small piece of chocolate. “We both know Dwalin, he won’t do anything bold until he knows Ori reciprocates his feelings. He’s worried he doesn’t  _ see him that way _ . Idiot. We all see the looks he shoots Dwalin, the man’s besotted.” 

“And you’ve done something  _ bold _ for Mister Baggins now, have you?” Balin raised both eyebrows, tilting his head. “I’d say you’re a pot calling the kettle black, but that would be an insult to pots and kettles the world round, with the amount of hypocrisy spilling forth from you.”

“Oh dear, your raise just fell by thirty percent, how unfortunate.” Thorin replied dryly, taking another sip of the amber liquid.

Balin tutted, shaking his head. “Sarcasm won’t get you far tonight, laddie. Time to pull yourself together and give me a straightforward answer. You’re lucky Dis isn’t here, she would have batted you over the head thrice by now.” 

“My sister is a menace.”

“Wait, scratch that, she would have batted you over the head four times.” Balin took another sip from his glass and settled back in his chair, shifting to face Thorin. “Tell me, what’s going on between you and that lovely Bilbo chap, hmm?” 

Thorin groaned. “When I asked you to come round I thought you would have used more subtlety and tact.”

“You’re using your sarcasm again to avoid the question, Thorin.” Balin warned, utterly unimpressed.

He rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing happening, I just find Bilbo… interesting.”

“Well, that’s a start I  _ suppose _ .” Balin said, thoroughly unimpressed. “You need to be more honest with yourself, you know that?” 

“Well, that topic is so…” He flailed his hands slightly, trying to find the word or gesture that would explain what he was thinking. “… uncomfortable to talk about.”

Balin sighed.  _ Time to switch tact _ he thought to himself as he topped up both their glasses and cleared his throat. “How long have I known you, Thorin?  _ Too long. _ You don’t have to be embarrassed about talking these things through with me, you know that?”

“…Yes.” 

“How about I make this easier for you, since you’re obviously not going to rattle on about your feelings for a half hour anytime soon.” He sat up straight. “I’ll ask you a direct question, and if I could get a direct answer, we can sort this all out and get to bed before five a.m... Sound acceptable?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Fine, go on.”

“I’ll start with something simple. Do you find the Bilbo sexually attractive?”

Thorin spat out the mouthful of Scotch he was in the middle of drinking and slammed his fist against his chest, trying to regain his breath. “You said simple!” He managed, between pained gasps.

Balin chuckled happily, thoroughly satisfied with Thorin’s reaction. “I’ll take that as a _yes_ then, laddie.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much, Balin. I didn’t think you were such a sadist.”

“You wound me.” He replied sarcastically, hand on heart. “All right, next question. Is this a brief dalliance, or something more serious?”

Thorin scratched the back of his head, staring into his glass. “Well, I’ve only known him a few days, I think it’s too soon to tell. But it’s definitely not a one-time sort of affair.” 

“Wonderful, that’s good to know. He’s a nice lad, that Bilbo. And he's not afraid to tell you off when you’re being difficult.”

“And how would you know about that, my old friend?” 

Balin tapped his nose, winking up at him. “Let’s just say I have my ways. And that not every window was closed at the B&B when you and Bilbo had your little tête-à-tête earlier.”

“Brilliant.” Thorin groaned, slumping down even further.

“If you think that this is going to become serious between you two, you will have to tell him everything eventually, you know that.”

“I know…”

“ _ Everything _ , Thorin.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Erebor, the fire, Smaug, Frerin - the whole lot.”

“It’s too early to be talking about this, Balin. I barely know the man.” 

“Laddie… I must say, I’ve never seen anyone light a fire in you like he does. He’s not afraid to speak his mind and I think you need that right now.” He paused. "More than ever .”

Thorin scrubbed his face with one hand. “This conversation is ridiculous. We met just a few days ago… and he thinks I’m a dick.”

“Well, you do have your  _ moments _ .” 

“That’s beside the point… like I said, it’s still too early to be discussing all of this.” Thorin sighed. “We haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

Balin raised an eyebrow. “So you’re going to ask him out soon, then?”

Thorin shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinking of seeing how things go between us and asking him out sometime next week. Maybe. If we don’t fight again. Or if I don’t mess it all up.” He winced. "At least he’s single?”

“So that security check you made Dwalin do on our resident Hobbit was for selfish reasons, then?” Balin inquired, crossing his arms.

He spluttered, shaking his head. “I would _never_ abuse my power just to see if he was single or not, Balin. You know that.”

“Aye, Thorin.” He squinted, scanning his face for a hint of deceit. “I believe you. But you best make sure you never do. Bilbo’s a good lad.”

“I know.”

“And he deserves your honesty.” 

“Fine, fine. But not all at once. I don’t want to scare him away.”

Balin hummed in agreement, tapping his bottom lip in thought. “Give him some space, let it breathe. You don’t need to force this, you have time to make your intentions known.”

“I know, I just… I fear I may have gone too far.” Thorin swallowed. “When we fought I called him cruel, amongst other things."

He nodded slowly. “Apologise then. It’s really that simple, Thorin.”

“Is it?”

Balin laughed softly. “Aye. It really is.”

Thorin rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “Monday. I’ll do it Monday."

“Sounds like a good idea.” Balin cleared his throat.  “Oh, and before I forget, Nori gave me an update earlier about that James Silver fellow.”

He frowned, tension returning to his shoulders. “What did he do?”

Balin shook his head. “Nothing to worry about, just something to keep an eye on. Mr Silver has recently been made unemployed, so there’s a chance he may be desperate for money. He’s at a higher risk to sell that photo of Bilbo to the press.”

Thorin growled. “That photo can never see the light of day, Balin. It would ruin him.” 

“I know.” He put a hand on Thorin’s arm and smiled sadly up at him. “But it would ruin you too, don’t you forget that.”

“I can handle it, I’ve been trained. Bilbo isn’t prepared to be part of a scandal, I would leave Hobbiton before having his respectability ruined.”

“My my, I forgot how dramatic you get when someone catches your eye.” Balin chuckled, shaking his head. "Woe betide anyone who gets in your way when you're looking out for Bilbo, they’re in for a nasty surprise.” 

“Piss off.” He mumbled half-heartedly.

“Don’t have a go at me because I’m right, lad.” He tutted. “But I’ll tell you this, that Bilbo is stronger than he looks.”

“ _ You’re telling me, _ he nearly tore my head clean off.”

Balin grinned. “I can’t  _ wait _ till he meets Dis. That is going to be a sight to see, I’m sure.”

“Christ almighty, they can never  _ ever _ meet. I wouldn’t survive.” Thorin groaned, head in his hands.

“You’re lucky she’s sorting out your affairs in London while you’re over here. Otherwise I’m sure they would already be thick as thieves.”

“Oh God stop, please. I can’t even  _ think _ about them together, I’ll have a coronary.”

“Fine, fine. I’m stopping.” Balin emptied his glass and stood slowly, grunting at the effort. “And I am much older than I look, apparently. Getting out of a chair gets harder each time, I tell you.”

Thorin stood as well, placing a hand on Balin’s shoulder. “Thank you for tonight, my friend.”

Balin batted his hand away, tutting self deprecatingly. “It was nothing, Thorin. You know you can come talk to me anytime.”

A text alert sounded in Thorin’s pocket, which he ignored for the time being. “Still, you have my thanks.”

“Yes, yes. Now I’m off to bed, and you better see who is messaging you at this ridiculous hour.”

“Night, Balin.”

“Aye, sweet dreams.” He replied happily as he shuffled out of the room.

Thorin pulled his phone out, seeing the text was from an unknown number, and swiped it open.

**No Caller ID: Been hme safe for a whille, shame i didnt take yoou up on your offer t walk with me. Wuld have invited you upstairs nd climbed that lik a tree. Nxt time maybee. Billbo.**

He gulped dryly, re-reading the text for the third time.

“He is going to get me in so much trouble.”

\---

Bilbo rested his head on the cool kitchen bench, thoroughly exhausted from the past two days. His weekend had started pretty abysmally with the hangover from hell, _thank you Bofur_ , but that was just the start. 

Firstly, in his hungover state, he had tripped over his own feet on the way to open up the Teahouse for the Saturday morning tea rush and had scraped his left elbow up pretty bad, ruining one of his favourite grey cardigans. 

Secondly, Ted Sandyman had come in for his trial shift and was absolutely  _ useless _ . Bilbo was patient with the lad and talked him through everything at least twice, but the boy just didn't  _ get it. _ Some people are made for customer service, and Ted Sandyman was most certainly  _ not _ one of them _. _ In the space of only one hour he had broken two teacups, a floral teapot, and Bilbo's favourite olive green Moroccan tea glass. 

To say the boy was clumsy would be the understatement of the century. He was like a spider on roller-skates - a flurry of wild gangly limbs with no sense of direction.

Bilbo had been forced to send Ted home early, the boy being far more trouble than he was worth. He had apologised continuously and explained that he was just overly nervous, so Bilbo gave him another chance and asked him to come in on a quiet tuesday for another two hour trial. Hopefully the teen would have his act together by then.

The real  pièce de résistance of his awful weekend occurred  in Bilbo's frazzled state on Sunday, where he dropped a boiling teapot of water down Old Mrs Buttons’ hand and sent her to Bree Hospital with a makeshift burn dressing - a kitchen towel filled with ice. Luckily for everyone involved, a regular customer was able to drive her straight to A&E and out of harm’s (Bilbo’s) way. Bilbo decreed that they would both have as much free tea as they could drink, forever. It was the least he could do.

Mrs Buttons had been overly polite about the whole thing, asking if _he_ was all right, which made the whole situation even worse. He had never felt so guilty, _she_ was the one with burns and was in pain, but was asking what was wrong with _him_ and why he was so stressed. 

But this was all in the past, the deeds had been done. He shook himself out of his reverie, slid off the kitchen stool and walked over to the oven, the golden late-afternoon light casting shadows on the black and white tiles. “Thank Christ I have Mondays off.”

Bilbo crouched down and peered at his soufflé’s through the oven’s glass door, checking they hadn't deflated while he had been moping over his weekend from hell. He was a stress-baker through and through, and today called for chocolate soufflés to ease the pain a little, the familiar warmth of Bag End’s kitchen seeping into his tired bones.

His stress-baking first manifested in university, starting with little treats like biscuits and small tarts. Over the years it slowly yet surely turned into a full-blown addiction that had him visiting the markets every weekend to fill his panty with anything he might need for a spur of the moment baking session. 

Last week had been caramelised fig tarts, the week previous bread and butter pudding. He was very thankful he walked everywhere, otherwise he would have easily grown as wide as he was tall by the age of 30, which would not do if he wanted to continue running orders around the cramped Teahouse floor.

The oven timer buzzed, spurring him into action. He reached for his worn oven mitts, placed the tray of ramekins on the stove top, grabbed a spoon, and tested his first soufflé. Bilbo moaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His soufflé was perfect, with a gorgeous lava centre - he’d done it again.

He hummed happily to himself and inspected the five other deserts, which also looked perfect. The weekend might have been one of the worst he'd had that year, but at least he could make a mean soufflé. "Swings and roundabouts I suppose," he chuckled to himself as he put the remaining ramekins on a cooling rack and tucked them aside on the marble bench top. He took another spoonful, which was heaven - but it needed a little something extra.

“I know, where did I put those damn raspberries..." Bilbo mused to himself as he opened the fridge door and squatted down, trying to rustle through the fruit and veg drawer to find the elusive berries. "Bloody. Useless. Giant. Fucking. Fridge." He grumbled under his breath as he reached forward as far as he could, his fingertips only grazing the plastic container containing the fruit.

He stretched further into the fridge, his body now twisted to the side as his shoulder dug into the cold crisper. "How the hell did you get so far away!" Bilbo chided, turning red with the effort.

A polite cough sounded behind him, making him freeze. He turned around, arm still shoulder-deep in the fridge, to see a grinning Bofur peering down at him. "Please don't think that I'm not enjoying this spectacular view of your arse, Bilbo, but would you like some help down there?"

"Why hello there, _neighbour_. What brings you here _uninvited_ to my kitchen on this fine monday afternoon?" He replied dryly, arching an eyebrow.

Bofur chuckled, shaking his head. "Your back door was open lad, it seemed a good enough way as any to come say hello." 

"Right, I keep forgetting your lot don't understand the concept of receiving an invitation  _ before _ you come visit.” He stood up. “So, how’s the Hornblower cottage treating you, then? I thought I saw Dwalin and Nori fussing around there earlier this morning, I’m assuming you’ve taken the Air BnB next door after eating the Gamgees out of house and home?”

He tutted, amused. “Can’t get one past you Hobbits and your gossip grapevine, can we?”

Bilbo snorted. “You lot were hardly subtle, it took two vans to get all of you and your luggage out of the Gamgee’s B&B.”

“You may have a point, we weren’t trying to be sneaky.” He winked. “So, is there any Hobbit housewarming traditions we should be aware of? The arrival of many cakes, a sacrificial lamb, maybe a commemorative hat?"

“Bofur… you’re in the west country. Hobbiton isn’t some culty village like in  _ Midsommar _ ."

“I mean, it can’t hurt to ask?” He teased, eyes twinkling.

“Sure.” He crossed his arms. “So, any reason why you’re interrupting my very busy afternoon?"

Bofur looked behind Bilbo to the soufflé tray. “Yes, I can see you’re burning the candle at both ends."

“Don’t try me today, Bofur.”

He raised both hands defensively. “Hey, I was only teasing, lad.” He took a step forward. “Everything all right, Bilbo? You seem… agitated?"

"The weekend from hell happened, that's what."

"From  _ hell _ , you say?" He whistled sympathetically. "Hangover that awful, lad?"

"That was just the _start_ of my God-awful saturday." He rubbed his temples in slow, circular movements. “But I have the day off today. I just need some tea, a soufflé, and some _fucking raspberries_. Then I'll be fine."

"Any chance you've got enough pudding for two?"

"If you do me a favour, there's a ramekin with your name on it.” 

Bofur smirked. “Oh, a _favour,_ you say?"

“Not a favour like  _ that _ , Bofur. Heavens."

He chuckled. "Well, when you're as attractive as I am you can't be too careful with requests from people you barely know."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "It's you lot who I have to look out for, not the other way round, you prat. I was hungover for two straight days because of you!"

"We never forced any wine down your throat Mister Bilbo, you've nobody to blame but yourself." He rolled up his sleeves. "So, what did you need as payment for those heavenly smelling cakes of yours?"

"Fetch me those bloody raspberries and we have a deal."

"Done."

\---

“Right… so you’ve got your pastry sheets for Bombur, a soufflé for you both, and some fresh Basil. Anything else you needed?” Bilbo asked as he busied himself around the kitchen, fetching items and placing them in a small woven basket for his uninvited guest.

Bofur peered into the basket, lifting up the red checkered tea towel. “No lad, that should be enough.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, they paused and looked outside. “And I should probably be off, don’t want to get caught outside in the rain.”

“Good idea, I have to take some laundry off the line before the weather hits. You’ll pop in tomorrow to return the basket, yes?”

“I said I would lad, don’t you worry your pretty head. I’ll return your lovely basket.”

“It’s an _antique,_ you better.” He grumbled under his breath, making Bofur smile.

“I’ll take  _ extra care _ , promise. Now you best get your washing put away, I need to get back to Bombur before I get an earful for making him wait.” 

Bilbo walked ahead and opened the kitchen door, beckoning for him to follow. “Don’t you go ruining that basket, now.”

He shook his head, laughing softly as he followed the shorter man outside. “You worry too much, Bilbo.”

“Piss _ off _ .”

Bofur grinned cheekily and walked backwards, headed towards his cottage. “Thanks again for the pudding, lad.” He winked and turned around, whistling to himself as he jumped over the small stone fence separating their properties and headed inside.

Bilbo looked up towards the drying clothes in his back garden. “Right. Better get this washing inside before the rain hits…” He said to himself as he walked up the hill towards the clothesline and picked up an upturned laundry basket on the way. 

After setting it down at his feet, he started pulling the clothes off hurriedly, hearing the rumbling in the distance draw nearer and increase in volume. He pulled off a dress shirt far too hastily and heard a small rip, making him swear angrily under his breath. “Christ I’m absolutely _useless_ , I can’t even take a fucking peg of a shirt without buggering it up”-

“-Everything all right over here?” 

“ _Fuck!_ ” He shrieked as he turned to see Thorin approaching him with an apologetic smile. “Do you and your friends make a habit of sneaking up on people or am I just lucky?” Bilbo closed his eyes, breathing heavily, a hand on his chest. " My heart is _racing_ , Thorin!”

Thorin coughed with discomfort. “Uh, sorry.”

Bilbo eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

“What do you mean  _ ‘what'?” _

He took a step closer. “Why are you all…” he gestured at Thorin, " _ weird _ ? Is this because I didn’t text you when I got home friday night?" Bilbo crossed his arms. "I was pretty drunk, there’s no way in hell I would have been able to handle a phone in my state.”

Thorin’s eyes widened. “Of course, yes. That’s why I’m acting strange. You had me… worried. Because you definitely  _ did not _ text me that night. No, not at all."

“You’re acting really strangely, Thorin. Is everything all right?”

“It’s all… good.” He attempted a casual tone and managed to sound even more uncomfortable.

“Right.” Bilbo frowned. “Well... I’m going to continue taking this washing off the line, so you can either help me or watch me, it’s up to you.”

“I can help. "

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Oh really now? And when was the last time you did your own washing, hmm?”

He shrugged. “Extra points for trying, right?”

“I'm suddenly regretting asking you for your help.”

Thorin snorted. “Do you want some help before it rains or not?”

“Fine, fine. Make yourself useful and grab those socks there."

The politician walked over and started pulling clothes off the line, making an amused noise as he held up a head-achingly vibrant pair of pink socks. "Did you buy these to match your pink hair curler?"

"Piss off... They're  _ salmon _ ."

He laughed softly, putting them in the basket below him. "Of course, my apologies."

They took down the clothes in companionable silence, Bilbo sneaking a few looks at Thorin to try and gauge what was actually going on. He eventually tired of the deafening quiet and cleared his throat. "So I'm still angry about our fight."

Thorin avoided his gaze and continued to remove a peg from the shirt he was focused on. "I expected as much."

"You know you were out of line, right?"

“Yes.” He sighed. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that..."

Bilbo let out a loud bark of laughter, catching the politician off guard. "You think?" He angrily pulled a pair of navy trousers off the line, scrunched them up in his hands, and tossed them into the basket. "I'm a bastard at the best of times Thorin, I know this, but that morning you took the fucking cake."

"It won't happen again, you have my word." Thorin looked him in the eye. "I am mortified by how I treated you."

"Really, though? I'm warning you, next time I can and _will_ snap your head off. And that’s a promise.” He warned, hands on hips.

Thorin nodded. "Like I said, it won't happen again."

He eyed the taller man warily, nodded in acceptance, and returned to his task of pulling a black cardigan off the line. "If you say so.”

The two continued their task in peace, Thorin maintaining a running commentary on what items of Bilbo's he found either amusing or tasteful. Nearly done with the washing, they simultaneously reached out for a pair of black pants and Bilbo swatted his hand away, scowling up at him. "You don't need to touch those, that's quite fine."

"I don't mind." He admitted, Bilbo watching him curiously. "I-I mean, they're just... pants."

“Still, you don't need to touch them. I promise I won't get offended."

"It's fine, I'm not squeamish."

"Are you saying pants  _ usually _ make you squeamish?"

Thorin groaned. " _ No _ , I'm just saying, mine often get mixed up with Fili and Kili's, so it doesn't bother me... touching other peoples pants, that is."

Bilbo smirked up at him. "So that explains why you have your name written on the tag of yours, then." He froze, realising what he had admitted. "I mean... err"

The politician watched Bilbo fumble his words, enjoying his discomfort immensely. "I see you went through my suitcase just as thoroughly as I went through yours. Seems fair."

He blushed. "Well... I didn't know who it belonged to, so I sort of.... had a look around."

"And subsequently unfolded my pants,  _ had a look inside _ , and found my name on the tag."

"Bloody hell, when you put it like that you make me sound like some sort of  _ pervert _ ."

"Well, are you?" He asked slyly, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo scoffed. "And  _ what _ are you insinuating, exactly?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I was just teasing, I didn’t mean anything by it... What has you so uptight, is something the matter?"

"Just tired, I had an endless weekend.” He replied, shoulders sagging.

Thorin nodded. "It seems we have that in common."

"After we're done here you should come in for a cup of tea if you like, or maybe something a little stronger." 

He smiled softly down at Bilbo. “I would love to."

The tips of Bilbo’s ears turned pink. “Right. Lovely. Yes."

Thunder rumbled in the background. Thorin reached down and picked up the basket, gesturing for Bilbo to lead. "Come on then, before the rain ruins all our hard work."

Bilbo nodded and shuffled down the hill, Thorin following closely. He opened the kitchen door for his guest and stood expectantly, waiting for the taller man to come through. “Come in, come in. Place that down on the bench, I’ll deal with it later.”

“Sure.” He looked around the red, black and white kitchen curiously, not hiding his interest.

“It’s just a kitchen, it isn’t  _ that _ exciting. Surely you’ve entered one or two in your time.”

He placed the basket down and continued looking about. “It’s… cosy. I like it.”

Bilbo put the kettle on and pulled out two of his best mugs. “My mother did it up, she was rather good at all that interior design business. Did most of the rooms, too.”

Thorin hummed in response as he walked forward, poking his head into the hallway. “This place is far larger than I thought, it looks so small and quaint from the font.”

“It’s built into the hill, so that hides most of the back rooms.” He placed a teabag in each of the cups, ignoring Thorin’s investigation going on behind him. “Don’t touch anything… and don’t mention the Christmas decorations. I’ll get around to putting them away eventually.”

A muffled laugh was heard a few rooms down, from the lounge. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Bilbo added the boiling water to the mugs, smiling as he inhaled the familiar scent of steeping tealeaves. “Any milk or sugar?”

“None for me, thanks.”

“Right.” He added milk and sugar to his own. “What about a chocolate soufflé, then? I made them recently, they should still be warm."

Thorin poked his head into the kitchen doorway. “Yes please, that sounds absolutely amazing."

He blushed under the attention. “Done. One black tea and soufflé, coming up."

The politician smiled and disappeared back down the hallway. “Let me know if you need any help."

“Thank you but I’ve got this.” He replied as he fussed around the kitchen, threw out the teabags, and arranged their evening treat on a vintage brass tea tray. “Coming."

“I’m down here, looking at your books.” Thorin called from the lounge.

Bilbo grabbed the tray and walked down the hallway to join Thorin, where the politician was investigating Bilbo’s multitude of bookcases with interest. “Here, tea’s done.”

Thorin turned and smiled down at him as he took the mug in hand. “Thank you.” He took a sip and returned his gaze to the bookcases. “How many books do you think you have?”

Bilbo sat on his favourite armchair and carefully placed the tray on the coffee table. He bit his lip, trying to come up with a number. “Uh, I think I’m up to a few hundred by now, I have two bookcases in my bedroom and another four in the study… plus other books stacked around the house in piles.”

“You could start a library, the way you’re going.” He sipped his tea, the dainty floral mug looking amusingly small in his giant, weathered hands. “Have you read all of them?”

“Well, I did English Literature at University. So yes, I’ve read most of them.” 

“I did a few English Lit subjects when I was at Oxford, the reading lists are ridiculous.”

Bilbo snorted, the sound muffled inside his mug. “Well, it is English Literature, Thorin. What did you expect?”

Thorin looked down at him, shrugging. “Less reading, I suppose. Thank heavens I lived on campus, otherwise my bag would have weighed a tonne.”

“I had to do a sort of funny waddle when I had my satchel full of books at Uni, made me look like I was doing a walk of shame.” He blushed bright red. “Which I never did… Not that anything is  _ wrong _ with that… I mean...” He covered his face with one hand, resting the mug on his arm rest. “Whatever. You know what I mean, I’m fucking  _ exhausted _ .”

“What happened over the weekend?” Thorin asked gently as he strolled across the room and sat across from Bilbo on the large maroon couch.

“I fell over, then my new Teahouse trainee was absolutely  _ awful _ , then I poured boiling water on a lovely old woman… you know, standard day at the office.”

“Well, that is  _ quite _ a weekend.” He offered, taking a spoonful of soufflé. “This is delicious."

Bilbo ran his hand through his curls, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Too fucking right it is.” He placed his mug on the table between them and crossed his legs, staring at the ceiling. “But I’m over talking about it, how was yours so awful?”

“Running around after Fili and Kili mostly, those boys are a nuisance.”

“They seem lovely, if not a bit cheeky.”

Thorin let out an amused huff. “ _ Cheeky _ is not the word I would use. They take after their mother.” He had a sip of his tea and rested it back on his thigh. “Those three don’t have an issue being heard, that’s for sure.”

He hummed in agreement and they sat in silence for a few minutes, both staring into the fire. Bilbo finished off his cake, felt his body start to relax, and slumped down in his chair, the fire’s heat seeping into his tired bones. Thorin watched him out of the corner of his eye, enjoying the way the Bilbo’s hair looked golden in the warm firelight.

“I owe you an apology.”

Bilbo scrunched his nose, staring into the fire. “It’s fine, I was just being petty earlier.”

“No, I do.” Thorin’s expression turned serious as he sat up straight, which got Bilbo’s attention. The man looked a decade older. “And I think I owe you some answers.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

The Hobbit scrambled upright, suddenly wide awake. “I-I mean, where to start! I have a million questions...” He started counting on his fingers. “There’s why you’re actually here, what Smaug is up to, what happened in Erebor, how your parents-"

“-Please, Bilbo.” Thorin held up a hand. “One at a time.”

Bilbo froze. “Yes of course, I’m so sorry. I’m being rude.”

“You’re not, just go easy.” He chuckled. "Don’t hurt yourself, one question at a time.”

“Ha ha.” The Hobbit replied sarcastically. “Alright - let me think.” He frowned.

“How about we just dive in?” Thorin took a sip of tea. "Tell me, when you met Smaug, were there any other men with him? Perhaps a tall, scarred fellow? Looks like the kind of man who could break your neck with just his little toe?”

Bilbo tapped his chin. “Hmm… I think so? Was he really pale? An absolutely terrifying man, he gave me the chills."

“That’s the one.” A dark cloud passed across Thorin’s face. "His name is Bolg, he’s the head of Smaug’s private army. Well, I use that term loosely, essentially he leads a pack of hired thugs. He has absolutely no morals or regret, and he will do anything Smaug asks him to. Anyone who crosses him ‘dissapears’.”

“And you’re telling me this because…”

“He and his father, Azog,  are responsible for the deaths of my grandparents, parents, and younger brother Frerin.”

“I’m so sorry, Thorin. That’s truly awful - wait-” Bilbo paled. “-this man, _Bolg_ , is working for Smaug… Smaug, as in the man who might be our next PM? Just how powerful is he, and how did he get away with _murder_?"

“He’s more powerful than you can imagine. We don’t know if it was an inside job, or if one of the staff let Bolg and Azog inside the family home, but it was a surprise attack.”

“Wait. What do you mean  _ let inside _ ?”

“A fire was started at night in the main wing of the Durin Estate, the doors were all barred shut… I didn’t reach them fast enough, they had all died by the time I arrived.“ Thorin paused, taking a breath. ”My sister, Dis, had to hold me back so that I didn’t dive in and burn alive with them.”

“Jesus. Did… did you go inside?”

He shook his head. “No, but I took a souvenir from Azog when he tried to escape.”

“A souvenir being…”

“His left arm.”

“His left- Thorin! What the fuck!” Bilbo yelled.

Thorin met Bilbo’s gaze, raising his chin. “I did what had to be done. As Azog recoiled from my shots he fell backwards into the flames and was consumed by fire. He got what he deserved.” He spat. "He killed my _family_ , Bilbo. My parents are _dead_."

“I mean- I know-“ Bilbo gulped. “But you _killed a man_ , Thorin. That’s _terrifying_. I… I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“I know this is a lot to process.” Thorin said gently, finished off his tea. “I want to be honest with you.”

“I appreciate that, but this is huge!"

"I can’t expect you to understand what I did, but know - Smaug is immensely powerful and his reach is endless, if I had not ended Azog’s life that night I probably wouldn’t be here today. He would have walked free and killed me without hesitation.”

“Fuck.” Bilbo stood and fetched a bottle of whiskey. “ _ Fuck _ .” He sat and placed the bottle between them on the table.

Thorin filled both of their mugs. “If Smaug comes back to Hobbiton and I'm here, I don’t know what will happen. We think Smaug organised a hit on me that night, but I was out on business with Dis and wasn’t inside when the fire was started. My family paid the price instead.” He took a sip. "He may try to harm me again.”

“Please tell me you're joking."

Thorin tilted his head. “Do I seem to be joking?”

“Sorry, just… wow.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “What happened after the fire?”

“The next day Smaug came into the city with a small army, blaming the fire on a gas leak from the largest Erebor mine, which runs under the entire island and into the Lonely Mountain. His men started assaulting people in the streets, ordering us to evacuate within twenty-four hours or we would all be removed  _ forcibly _ , saying that the island wasn’t safe anymore due to the mines. The city was in riots for two days straight, until they started  _ silencing _ people, and we were all thrown out.”

“ _ Fucking hell. _ ”

“Smaug had a team of scientists on his payroll, they reported the island too unstable to live on safely. They claimed that we had mined the land so deeply that we had ruined the bedrock, and destroyed the land to the point that it was on the brink of collapsing in on itself.”

“But how did he get away with it all?”

“Smaug gave those reports to his friends high up in the Government, put a media ban on the island, and told everyone else we had been given six months to move out. Nobody was the wiser.”

“When Smaug was here last, I saw him with a bunch of people with identity tags and clipboards… If those were the same scientists, we’re screwed.” 

“I was worried that was the case.” Thorin shook his head. “But it’s too close to tell, when he visited Hobbiton last Smaug only brought a small handful of people with him and was here for only three days. We think he was just scoping out the place, we might have nothing to worry about.”

“We should prepare for the worst, though.”

“We already are.”

Bilbo took a fortifying sip of whiskey and squinted at Thorin, reading his face. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Thorin nodded, picking up his mug. “Are you?"

He worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I think I am. Lots to think about."

Thorin hummed. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

Bilbo scoffed. “I’m not scared of you, Thorin. I just… need a moment."

They stared into the fire, dropping into comfortable silence once more. The flames popped and crackled, creating soothing background noise for Bilbo’s thoughts as the Hobbit frowned and finished off his mug. Twenty minutes passed and Bilbo’s eyes started to close, his grip loosening on the empty cup.

“Did you want me to leave?” Thorin asked softly, his deep voice barely heard over the crackling fire.

Bilbo turned to look at him, confused expression on his face. “Did I do something wrong? Or-”

Thorin smiled, shaking his head. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep any second.”

He shuffled down in his armchair, fully slumped. “I really could, but I don’t want to be rude…”

“I’ll go, it’s fine.” Thorin stretched. “You have a lot to think about."

“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m being an awful host.” He rubbed his nose and sat up straight, blinking slowly as he tried to wake himself up. “Tell me more about your weekend, then.”

“Here, give me that.” Thorin stood and took Bilbo’s mug, ignoring his fussy noises, and swatted away his smaller hands. “No, let me. I’ll put these in the kitchen and go, I can tell you’re exhausted. I’m overstaying my welcome.”

Bilbo grumbled but didn’t refuse, remaining in his seat as he watched Thorin pack up the tray, leave for the kitchen and return, the taller man now leaning against the doorframe. He sighed. “I’m an awful host, sorry.”

“Not at all, it’s getting late anyway.”

He stood slowly and stretched, scrunching his eyes closed, missing how Thorin’s eyes had darted to the flash of skin at Bilbo’s middle, revealed as he cracked his back. “I’ll walk you out.”

Thorin nodded, stepping away from the doorframe and out into the hallway. “Thanks again for the tea and dessert.”

“Not a problem at all, you’re welcome to come join me anytime.” He responded, ending the sentence with a loud yawn. “You know, if you’re around. Or free. I’m sure you’re always busy. And have other people to  _ tea _ with. Wait. That sounded like I was insinuating something…” Bilbo winced. “Just… come over for tea whenever, yeah?”

The politician chuckled as Bilbo opened the front door for him and rubbed his hands together in the cold night air. “Sure, I’ll keep it in mind.”

They hovered in the doorway, the Hobbit backlit by the flickering yellow light from the fireplace. Bilbo bit his lip, as if deliberating something, and then stood on his tippy-toes, grabbed Thorin by the shoulders and kissed him on his cheek. He lowered himself quickly and blushed bright red. “This was was… nice. _A lot,_ but nice.” He smiled shyly. "We should tea again soon. Maybe… take things slow?”

“Yes.” Thorin nodded, swallowing thickly. He was able to do speeches in front of thousands of people, and be on live radio, but as soon as it came to getting a kiss on the cheek from a cute guy he was rendered utterly useless. “That would be great.”

The shorter man beamed up at him. “Okay, well, night Thorin.”

“Night.” Thorin headed out the front door and turned around a few steps later, offering a small smile to Bilbo, who returned it instantly. He heard Bilbo’s front door close behind him, and let out a ragged breath.

Bilbo had kissed him on the cheek, even though he had unveiled so much of his dark past. He never would have expected that level of resilience from the Hobbit. 

He walked to the front door of his lodgings and unlocked it, a dazed look still on his face. The key slid into the lock but someone opened the door for him, and he was met by the giant smile of Balin.

“So, when should I organise the wedding, laddie?”

_ “Piss off." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the little Thorin interlude,  
> Thought it would be fun to mix it up a little.
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.


	6. The Perils of Fromage Foraging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori pops in for a visit and a meddle,  
> Bilbo borrows some cheese from next door,  
> And ceramic laughing dogs are involved.

Bilbo finished counting the register for the third time and gave up. He wasn't going to find that money hiding anywhere, it was definitely gone. 

“Christ, again? Come on, Ted. That boy is useless." He rubbed his eyes, letting out a loud groan. "I'm down twenty pounds and I don't have enough savoury food for tomorrow. Brilliant."

He put the days earnings into the lockbox under the counter and closed it, wincing as he stood up again. "Well, at least I have an excuse to cook all evening.” His phone vibrated on the counter with a new text message.

**Ori Rison: Hi, it's Ori. I was wondering if I could come over tonight? I was after the recipe for that amazing dessert you were cooking yesterday, we could smell it through the whole cottage. Ori.**

**Bilbo Baggins: I would love to have you over, anytime after 6 works.**

**Ori Rison: Brilliant, you're a lifesaver. See you tonight.**

Bilbo chuckled to himself and slid the phone into his pocket. Finally, somebody who could actually text him instead of popping up unannounced. Maybe there was hope for that group after all. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, turned off the lights and walked out the front door, locking it behind himself. 

He rolled his shoulders and started walking up the hill towards home. "An un-eventful night in is just what I need after this bastard of a day, how lovely." 

\---

A polite knock sounded at the back kitchen door, announcing Ori's arrival. Bilbo dusted the flour off his hands onto his faded black apron and opened it, met by Ori's wide grin.

"Come in, come in! Lovely to see you." He kissed Ori on the cheek, straining his neck to ensure he didn't get flour all over his guest. "Sorry about all the mess, I'm baking up a proverbial storm over here.”

Ori unwound the large purple knitted scarf from his neck, gazing around the room with wide eyes. “I knew this place would be lovely and cosy, and I was right. It really is a beautiful home, Bilbo. You must be very proud.”

Bilbo waved the compliment away self-deprecatingly. “It was inherited. I’ve done none of the hard work, I assure you.” He jerked a thumb to the teacups on display behind behind him. “Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

He gestured for his guest to sit by the kitchen island and started making tea for them both. “I also have some fresh lemon tarts if you’d like one?”

“Definitely, yes please. Bombur made us a huge pot of pasta for dinner but there’s always room for dessert.”

“Excellent.” He plated up a tart and handed it over. “So, what’s news? Been cleaning up Thorin’s mess all over Hobbiton?”

Ori snorted, covering his mouth with one hand as he chewed. “He didn't start any fights today, so I’ll mark it as a win.”

“So he'll argue with anyone, then?” Bilbo teased. “And here I was, thinking I was special."

“Oh you are, don’t worry, he saves all his best material for you.” He laughed. “Thorin keeps offending the locals, mentioning how  _ small and vulnerable _ Hobbiton is.” 

_ "Vulnerable?" _

“Oh yes, you heard me correctly.” He sighed. “I’ve sent out so many apology cards and bottles of wine the past few days, I feel I deserve one myself.”

“You should, it must be a tiring job running after him all day.”

“It’s not so bad, actually. He treats me more like a little brother than a p.a. since I’ve known him so long.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement as he returned to the tea, pulling out the strainer. “Milk and sugar?”

“White with one, thanks.” Ori replied as he took another bite of his tart. “So how was your day, then?"

He fussed with the tea, assembling the bits and pieces on a tray. “Awful. I’m going to have to fire my new guy, Ted. The till has been down the past three days and he keeps on breaking my antique teapots."

Ori winced. “I’m sorry Bilbo, that’s a tough one.”

“It’s awful, but it has to be done.” He added the milk and sugar and joined Ori at the kitchen island, pulling over a stool for himself. “I mean, we both know it isn’t working, I’m just delaying the inevitable. More time for him to find his true calling, since it’s definitely not hospitality.”

“Poor thing.” He had another bite of lemon tart and moaned. “Oh my god this is so good! It’s ridiculous!"

Bilbo preened. “Thank you, it’s my grandma Took’s recipe. Never fails.”

“When are you going to do it?” He paused. "Fire Ted, that is.”

“God, I haven’t thought about it - probably tomorrow. It’s best.” He had a fortifying sip of tea. “Awful business.”

“Wait! I have an idea.” Ori grinned widely. "What if I talk to Thorin and ask if Fili and Kili can help out around the Teahouse? I’m sure he would love the idea, those two are bored out of their brains, and could use a distraction.”

“You’re kidding.” Bilbo put his teacup down.

Ori shook his head. “Not at all - think of it, it’s perfect! Grandma's love Kili, and Fili is great at handling the press - which could easily translate to customer service, if you think about it.”

“Those two? Serving tea and scones?” He scrunched his face. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Come on, it’s a great idea.” Ori whipped out his phone. “I’m texting Thorin right now, you can’t stop me.”

Bilbo reached for the p.a.’s phone but it was too late, he was too fast a texter, and the message had been sent. “Ori, no!"

“The deed has been done, you can thank me later.” 

“You lot are going to be the death of me, I swear.” Bilbo groaned, massaging his temples.

Ori patted his shoulder. “You’re welcome."

The Hobbit batted his hand away, levelling him with an unimpressed glare. “The Party Princes. In frilly aprons. In _my Teahouse.”_

“Best idea i’ve had all year.” He beamed, unfazed by Bilbo’s grumpiness. 

He eyed Ori warily. “I think I’m starting to realise just how dangerous you can be.”

Ori grinned, showing all his teeth. “You have no idea.” 

“Good Lord.” Bilbo poured himself another cup and racked his brain for a suitable change of topic. “So, anything else happening?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “you know, with Dwalin?”

“Oh. That.” Ori blushed bright red and bit his lip. “I think so? Maybe? I’m not sure…” He stared down into his teacup. “You know the other night, when we got really drunk? Well, Dwalin was worried that I might choke on my vomit in my sleep, or something like that, so he asked if he could stay in my room to watch over me.”

“Delicious, do go on.” Bilbo leaned closer.

“Well... I said it was fine for him to sleep with me in my bed, but he insisted on sleeping on the floor.” Ori frowned. “It was rather odd, actually. As soon as I mentioned it, he got all  _ weird _ and wouldn’t make eye contact.”

“Uh, probably because he’d love to jump into bed with you, _ sans the suit.” _

“Rude.” Ori pointed at him accusingly. “Don’t get my hopes up like that!”

“Trust me, I’m right. It’s definitely the reason, sweetheart. I’ll ask this - did he get all flustered when you got changed?”

The p.a.’s blush deepened. “Ah. Actually. I couldn’t really stand, so he helped me strip down to just my pants… My memory is quite blurry, but I do remember him muttering under his breath the entire time, I think I made him angry?”

“I’m sure he was just concerned - and a little frustrated by the situation...” Bilbo shuffled his stool closer. “Think about it - he likes you, and the first time he sees you in naught but your pants is when he’s helping you drunkenly undress. Not sexy at all."

He shook his head. “You’re wrong. Dwalin treated me like I was a… a tired puppy, I was so pathetic.” Ori leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know I was drunk, but I swear he  _ petted my hair _ as I was falling asleep.”

Bilbo choked on his tea. “Ori, dear, he was being affectionate. He is definitely keen on you, I know it.” He reached forward, stole a corner of Ori’s tart, and popped it in his mouth. “Dwalin was just being a decent human being and didn't take advantage of you while you were in that state.”

“I know he was being decent, but- he petted my hair, Bilbo. _My hair._ As I was _passing out.”_ He groaned, head in his hands. “He heard my drunk snoring. There’s no way in hell he's interested, he was just doing his job.”

“Ori, his job description doesn’t include _drunk babysitter._ He’s into you, alright?”

“You’re delusional.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Ori sighed. “I made him angry, alright? I’m going to make it up to him by cooking whatever desert you were baking yesterday.”

“That’s right, you’re going to bake for him.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything else you’re going to offer up?"

“Bilbo! Stop!” He thwacked Bilbo in the shoulder again. “Listen - I’m only doing this because I overheard him yesterday saying to Balin that he’d kill to eat whatever you were cooking, so I thought I might surprise him with it as a thank you. That’s it. It’s just a cake.”

Bilbo beamed. “I think that is an excellent idea, Ori. You know what they say,  _ the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” _

“I’m not cooking for him so he likes me, I’m… making up for when I made a tit out of myself.”

“Sure, I believe you.” He responded, smirking.

Ori rolled his eyes and had another sip of tea. “You should.” He sat up straight, eyes widening. “Oh, I nearly forgot - I have something to tell you!”

“Yes…?”

“Thorin mentioned you earlier today. Well… sort of. I think he was talking about you?”

“And…?”

“He asked me a question about _tea._ Thorin never asks about tea. He was asking if I knew anything about the different types, and which ones were popular.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “And this relates to me how?”

“I think he’s trying to learn a bit about tea so he can impress you.”

He blinked. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“No I most certainly am not. I told him about all of those fancy-looking Chinese teas on the back wall of your Teahouse, and that he should look into those.”

“I’m sure he just wants to broaden his tea horizons,” he emptied his teacup, "this has nothing to do with me.”

Ori looked at him accusingly. “And you haven’t done any research into our party policies to impress him?”

Bilbo blushed. “…No, nope. Nada. Not at all.”

“You’re an awful liar.”

He sighed. “Christ, I know. It would definitely come in handy if I could.”

“I mean… I could tell you some things about Thorin, if you like?” Ori offered as he popped the last bit of tart into his mouth.

“If it’s not too weird? He’s your boss, and all.”

Ori smiled and shook his head. “It’s not weird, what did you want to know?”

“Well…” Bilbo tapped his bottom lip. “Uh, does he have any hobbies except brooding and drinking whiskey?”

He snorted. “Yes, yes he does. He quite enjoys chess, reading biographies… uh, bike riding.”

“Well, biographies _and_ Pride and Prejudice.”

“And how do you know about _ that?”  _ Ori asked, eyebrows raised. “I caught him reading it last week and he looked like a dear in headlights, he was that mortified.”

Bilbo was delighted. “Oh that’s fantastic, I had no idea it was his guilty pleasure. I found it in his suitcase when we accidentally swapped them back at the airport.”

“Oh of course, I forgot about that.”

“I mean, it makes sense he likes it so much.” His shit-eating grin was radiant. “An attractive, rich, socially-awkward man who doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings? Sounds familiar."

Ori giggled. “Bilbo! You’re terrible.”

“Tell me I’m wrong."

“I mean-“ he scrunched up his nose. “-can we please change the subject?"

“Okay, fine. Since we can’t talk about that, what is his sister like? He mentioned her the other day."

Ori nodded excitedly. “You would love her - I think you two might be twins, separated at birth. You both keep Thorin in check.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why on earth would he spend time with me if I remind him of his sister? That’s a bit weird.”

“You don’t! I mean- it’s not like that.” He waved his hands. “What I meant is, she had to raise Fili and Kili, right? Dis can literally handle  _ anything _ that gets thrown at her. That’s why she’s looking after Thorin’s affairs in London while we’re all here, she’s amazing.”

“She should meet Bell, they’d get on famously.”

“If Dis comes to visit, we should all have afternoon tea at the B&B together.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement. “Definitely.”

“So, anything else you’d like to know?” Ori asked, fiddling with his teacup.

“Um, is there anything he really hates that I should know about?”

He looked up at the ceiling, pouting his lips. “He hates it when people don’t queue properly? Um. He hates Gin. And techno music.” Ori counted on his fingers. “People who are mean to waitstaff… bad hair days..."

Bilbo nodded, taking it all in. “Right, so, no dates with gin cocktails at a popular nightclub, on a humid day. Got it.”

Ori’s eyes widened. “You’re going to ask him out!?”

“W-What!” He spluttered, shaking his head. “I never said I was going to ask him out!”

“You kind of did, Bilbo.”

“Aw, bugger.”

“That would be fantastic, you definitely should.” He gushed, mind going at a hundred miles an hour. “You two would be perfect together, he’s all grumpy and you’re quite sunshiney when you want to be. He’s easier to work with when he’s in a good mood so you’ll make all our lives better, and-"

“-now hold on just a second, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You want me to date your  _ boss _ ?” Bilbo asked, deadpan.

“Not my  _ boss, _ just Thorin. You two work well together, I can see it.”

Bilbo wrung his hands. “I don’t know, Ori. He’s a busy, important politician,  _ who might become our next PM _ . He seems like he has a pretty tragic past, and I’m just… Bilbo Baggins. Teahouse owner and permanent bachelor.”

Ori frowned. “You can’t think like that, Bilbo. I know I don’t know you that well, but so far you’ve been really lovely and welcoming, and you’re not afraid to tell Thorin off.” He put his hand over Bilbo's. “Thorin rants about the disingenuous people he works with all the time, he values your honesty. Trust me.”

“Being able to yell at him doesn’t mean we’re a good match, Ori.” He harrumphed.

“But it means you’ll keep him grounded if he does become PM, and he won’t turn into the uptight politician his father was.”

“Wait, his father was in politics too?”

He nodded, humming in affirmation. “He was pretty terrifying. I only knew Thrain when I was young, but at family dinners he was always rambling on about _keeping the Durin line in politics_ and _preserving the family name,_ etcetera etcetera.”

Bilbo grimaced. “That sounds like a pretty tough upbringing.”

“It was, Thorin has been groomed for a life of politics since he was only young, and always told to _''get on with it'_ and _'get the job done',_ at least that’s what Balin told me… I think that’s why he’s never really dated anyone. He’s been so dedicated to becoming PM and reclaiming his home that he hasn’t had a moment to focus on himself and his own happiness.”

“Huh. How about that. That’s a shame, I always imagined him as the  _ serious-partner-of-many-years _ type.”

“I’ve been working with him for around ten years now and I’ve never heard of a partner _._ Not even a near-boyfriend or an _arrangement_ with someone.”

Bilbo whistled sympathetically. “Well, that’s something we have in common then. Long-term singledom.” He refilled both of their teacups. "Fantastic. Both of us have no idea what we’re doing. This is bound to go well.”

“I’m  _ pretty sure _ he likes you, and I know that you like him back, so that’s sorted at least.”

He groaned and put his head in is hands. “But it isn’t sorted, though. I have no idea what I’m doing. I try to talk to the man and just end up yelling at him, he drives me insane.”

“Just think of how incredible the sex could be.” Ori said quietly, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“Ori!” He exclaimed, swatting him on the shoulder. “He’s your boss!”

The p.a.’s cheeks flushed bright red and he covered his mouth with one hand. “Yeah, but, I’m trying to ignore that part and just focus on giving you advice as my friend.” He whined.

Bilbo put a hand on his chest, thoroughly flustered. “Yes. Well. I don’t want to talk about  _ that _ . You’ve been spending too much time with Bofur, he’s rubbed off on you.”

“…I’m right though, you two have some  _ powerful _ sexual tension going on.”

_ “Ori!” _

\---

Bilbo got very close to physically removing the p.a. from his kitchen (after giving him the recipe of course, he wasn’t a monster). Ori was dead set on discussing the chemistry Bilbo and Thorin shared, and would't drop the topic of how satisfying it would be when they finally sorted out their feelings and threw each other onto the closest horizontal surface.

It really _was_ the quiet ones you had to watch out for. Ori had some rather creative ideas for how to dispel the tension, making Bilbo blush bright red and shush the man till he stopped talking about how fit and _flexible_ Thorin was from years of yoga. Jesus Christ.

The Hobbit reached for his trusty recipe book and flipped through the worn pages, squinting in the dim twilight. He knew he should have turned on a light, but he couldn’t be bothered, he was too busy searching for the perfect thing to bake. 

“Hmm… I’ve already made lemon tarts and a chocolate flan, maybe it’s time for something savoury…” He turned a few pages and hummed approvingly, as an enticing photo of cheese and chive scones grabbed his attention.

“Perfect. Now, do I have enough cheese…” He opened the fridge and went through its contents, searching for a nice strong Cheddar, but was fresh out.

He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, deliberating what to do. He could always make plain scones, but he already had too many at the Teahouse. "Wait.” Bilbo mumbled to himself as he grabbed the basket Bofur had returned earlier and hung it on his elbow. “I’m sure I can swap those pastry sheets that Bombur borrowed for some Cheddar. Brilliant.”

After ensuring he didn’t need anything else for the scones, Bilbo headed out the back kitchen door, jumped over the short crumbling wall that separated the two properties, and rung the bell to the cottage back door. Nothing stirred. He checked his watch, seeing it was only half eight. Surely they weren’t all in bed? It was still light out.

Muffled footsteps approached and the kitchen light flickered on. “One moment, coming.” A familiar deep voice rumbled.

Bilbo prepared himself mentally to come face to face with Thorin, eliminating any steamy thoughts he may have been having earlier. He was just popping over to visit Bombur and borrow some cheese, not snog Thorin against the kitchen wall.

The door swung open and Bilbo’s eyes widened as Thorin stepped into view. All chances of having a decent conversation had flown straight out the window, for Thorin was in tracksuit bottoms. Not a tailored suit, oh no, but in _ grey, loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms. _ To make it worse, he was also wearing a navy, well-loved hoodie, his hands tucked in the front pocket. Bilbo looked down, and groaned internally. Christ, he was in fuzzy socks too. 

He had never seen Thorin so soft and casual, and it was utterly disarming - the politician had a five o'clock shadow and his hair was all ruffled and sticking up to one side, like he had just woken up from a nap on the couch. He had never looked so damn sexy and kissable, and it was driving Bilbo wild.

Thorin cleared his throat pointedly, snapping Bilbo out of his internal thirst meltdown. The catalyst for said meltdown? One word. Bulge.

“Why if it isn't Bilbo Baggins, how can I help you on this fine Thursday evening?” He asked in amusement, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“I-I was after Bombur? I need to borrow something from the pantry.” Bilbo gulped dryly.

“I’m afraid they’re all out, they decided to head to the Green Dragon for a pint or two.”

Bilbo shuffled his feet in the doorway. “Right, I see. I guess I’ll just go-”

“-Would you like a cup of tea?” Thorin blurted out, cringing at how painfully eager he sounded. He rolled his shoulders and collected himself, smoothing down his wild hair. “What I mean to say is, I’m sure I can help you find whatever you’re looking for. I was just about to put the kettle on anyway, and can make us some tea while we look?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Great.” Thorin nodded and shuffled back inside, opening the door wide. 

Bilbo entered and looked around the kitchen curiously. It was done up in white and pink with an abundance of floral patterns, with ridiculously lacy curtains that framed all the windows. It made Thorin stand out like a sore thumb - the tall, broad man in navy and grey, surrounded by pink doilies and fake flowers. Bilbo had to stifle a snigger behind his hand, the man looked utterly ridiculous and out of place in the loudly decorated kitchen.

“Loving the look you’ve got going on in here, very _grandma with ten cats.”_

“Really? You’re really going there? I’m disappointed in you Bilbo, it’s too easy to make fun of this place.” He teased. “If you must know, this was the only furnished cottage available so last minute, so here we are. In nana paradise.”

“Nana paradise is right.” Bilbo’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Is the rest of the place this… _ frilly?” _

“You have no idea. The horrors of this place aren’t limited to the kitchen alone, it’s the whole bloody cottage.” He filled the kettle with water and switched it on. "The first night we stayed here I had an awful headache - I blame the decor.”

He began to laugh in earnest, unable to keep it in. “Fuck the tea, you have to give me a tour right this instant.”

Thorin grinned at him and nodded. “Sure, follow me.” He led Bilbo out of the kitchen and down the hallway, which was decorated with an array of framed crochet artworks, all containing cats doing something sickeningly adorable like rolling around a ball of yarn or sleeping in a comically small basket.

“If this is just the hallway, I can’t  _ wait _ to see the sitting room.”

“It’s pretty spectacular.”

They walked to the end of the hallway, where Thorin stopped and pointed to their right. Bilbo froze and gasped as soon as he laid eyes on the room.

Thorin was right, it was  _ incredible. _

It was like five grandmas had lived in one home together and shoved as much as they could into the small space. There were so many knickknacks and doilies on every surface that Bilbo couldn’t tell what colour the coffee table was.

He whistled in awe and snuck a look at Thorin from the corner of his eye - the man was eyeing the room with utter misery. “Oh my God I am so sorry. This isn’t even funny, it’s  _ sad.” _

“There are twenty six doilies in my bedroom.”

_ “Twenty six!” _

“And thirteen ceramic pigs. All comically posed. Some are wearing hats.” He replied completely deadpan, eyes unfocussed, staring at the opposite wall.

Bilbo stood side-by-side with him, covering his mouth with both hands as he looked over the chaotically styled room. “I don’t actually know where to look, there is that much going on… is the rest of the cottage this bad?”

“There are laughing ceramic dogs in the bathroom.” Thorin's eyes glazed over, his demeanour shifted as if he was reminiscing about a past nightmare or traumatic event. “Their eyes watch you in the bath. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

That was it. Bilbo lost it.

He burst into raucous laughter, hands on knees as he bent forward. “Oh shit… Oh-” he took in a ragged breath between laughs “-the fucking  _ dogs _ … oh… oh God. I can’t  _ breathe _ .”

Thorin joined in, laughing softly and shaking his head. “It’s awful, I’m in hell. You shouldn’t laugh at my pain, it’s not nice.”

“But… bloody pigs _in_ _hats!_ When you sleep!... oh fuck… it’s too funny…” He gasped for air, tears forming in his eyes.

“Please, revel in my despair.”

Bilbo put his hands on his hips and tried to regulate his breathing. “Sorry, sorry. Shouldn’t laugh.” He took in a deep breath and stood up straight. “Oh boy, I haven’t laughed that hard in _ages._ Thanks, really.”

“I’m glad to hear my discomfort brings you so much joy, are all Hobbits this mean?” Thorin teased mildly, no real heat to it.

“No, _I’m not like other Hobbits.”_ He said in a sing-song voice, batting his eyelashes. “Come on, don’t be such a wet blanket. You don’t have to be so serious all the time.”

“It’s still not funny.” One side of Thorin's mouth started to quirk up, a crack in his brooding facade. 

“Oh come on, it’s a little bit funny.” Bilbo turned to face him. “Pigs in _hats,_ Thorin! That’s comedy gold.”

“You’re not the one who has to sleep with them in the room.”

Bilbo squinted up at him. “Have you turned them all around, so they don’t face you?”

“No. That would be ridiculous.” 

“Piss off, you totally have!” The Hobbit shoved him cheekily. “Admit it!"

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, yes. I have. Because they’re terrifying. And have cold, dead eyes that follow you around the room.”

“Well, if it’s so bad, maybe you should just sleep at mine.” He scrunched his eyes shut in horror, very aware of how suggestive that had just sounded. “I mean. I have four guest bedrooms, you could stay in one of those. Of course. Mi casa es su casa, right?” Bilbo opened his eyes, greeted by Thorin grinning down at him, thoroughly enjoying Bilbo’s rambling. "Uhh. I’m not inviting you to share my bed. Not that I find the idea of you sharing my bed awful. Or that I want you to come over and sleep with me tonight. _Wait._ What I mean to say is. Shit.” He sighed in defeat. “Just know that if it gets too intense here or whatever, there’s a bed at mine you can sleep in. End of story.”

Thorin cleared his throat, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. “You done?”

He breathed out loudly, shoulders slumped. “Yes, I do believe I am.”

“Right. Well. I don’t know about you, but I could really go for some tea right now.”

“Tea would be fantastic.”

Thorin turned and headed for the kitchen, Bilbo in tow, who was now berating himself mentally, muttering _‘well bloody done, you’re as smooth as ever Bilbo’_ under his breath. Thorin politely pretended not to notice, and walked over to the kettle and turned it on again.

“I have some loose leaf I bought yesterday, if you were interested?”

“I usually drink teabags when I’m home alone because I can’t be bothered, but some loose leaf would be nice. What do you have?”

He picked up a small matte black canister and squinted at the label, clearing his throat. “I have some…  _ pew-er _ tea?”

Bilbo stifled a laugh under a hand and looked up at the man fondly. “It’s pronounced pu-erh, actually. And it’s quite earthy, are you sure you’ll like it?”

Thorin nodded, still squinting at the packaging. “It’s black tea, I’m sure I’ll be fine. The lady at the store said it was very popular.”

“It’s also very high in caffeine, will you be able to sleep tonight if you have any?”

He huffed. “I can handle some tea before bed, Bilbo. I’ll be fine.”

“…Alright then.” He shrugged. “Do you know how to brew it? With these kinds of teas, they taste pretty awful if you over-brew them. You traditionally don’t serve them with milk or sugar, so you can’t cover up the flavour if you ruin it.”

Thorin tossed the canister over to Bilbo, who caught it one-handed. “How about this, since you’re so insistent on  _ backseat brewing _ , it’ll just be easier if you just do it yourself.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just very particular when it comes to tea.” He raised both hands placatingly.

_“You don’t say.”_ Thorin replied, thick with sarcasm.

Bilbo bit his lip, trying not to smile. Thorin was sulking, and it was absolutely adorable. “So, where do your teapots live?”

Thorin grumpily sat down at the small kitchen table and picked up a biscuit. “Above the fridge.” He popped the biscuit into his mouth and somehow managed to look even more morose with a mouthful of chocolate biscuit.

“Right. Thanks.” He quietly padded over to the fridge, opened the white cabinet above and peered in. There was a teapot big enough for at least four cups of tea, but it was too far back for his Hobbity height. He rose up on the tips of his toes, but was barely within reach of the accursed pot, his fingertips a good twenty centimetres away. “Uhh… could I please get a little help? I’m not tall enough. No teasing.”

He heard a chair scrape on the tiled floor and felt a sudden warmth at his back as Thorin stood behind him and leaned forward, picking up the teapot Bilbo was straining to reach. He placed the teapot in Bilbo’s hands and sulked back to his chair, saying nothing.

Bilbo blushed, his hands shaking a little as he held the teapot aloft, frozen in place. Thorin’s sheer size had completely engulfed him, inspiring Bilbo to imagine what it would be like if Thorin bent him over and-

_ -Whoa there! Simmer down! _ He reprimanded himself internally, trying to think about something else that didn't involve counters and/or Bilbo being pummelled into the side of one. “Jesus, Bilbo."

“Did you say something?” Thorin asked coolly, his sulk now over.

He shook his head, making his curls bounce around his face. “N-Nothing, just remembered something I need to do when I get back home.” Bilbo replied unconvincingly as he walked over to the kitchen counter. He opened the tealeaves and sniffed the contents, smiling happily. “This is a very high grade tea, you chose well.”

Muffled footsteps approached and Bilbo felt the familiar warmth behind him once more, this time plastered against his left side as the politician peered over his shoulder. “How can you tell?”

Nervous sweat prickled at Bilbo’s temples as he pinched some tealeaves and spread them out over his open palm, showing them more clearly. “Y-you see how the leaves aren’t broken or cut up, but they’re full, and a gorgeous dark colour? That’s how you tell. And here, smell.” He raised his hand up to Thorin’s face as the taller man leaned down and took in a whiff. “You see how it’s earthy, with a faint smokiness? That’s what you want, it’ll have a nice rich flavour.”

The taller man crinkled his nose and looked down at the tealeaves warily. “Are they supposed to smell like that? This isn’t like any tea I’ve ever smelt before.”

He laughed quietly and turned back to the teapot, Thorin still glued to his side. “I said this tea was different, are you sure you still want to try it?” He put a few pinches of tea inside the strainer and added the freshly boiled water to the top, the rich smell of the Chinese tea filling the room.

“I said I would, so I will.”

“Sure thing, but don’t drink the whole cup because you feel like you have to. I won’t get offended.”

“I’ll drink the damn tea.” He groused, Bilbo bit his lip again so he didn’t laugh.

“Of course, sorry I said anything.” He pulled out his iPhone and set a timer for three and a half minutes, and placed it down beside the teapot.

“Do you do this every time you make tea at home?”

“I set a timer for all my customers at work, it’s become second nature now whenever I make a pot. They never remember to take the leaves out in time, I don’t want them drinking over-brewed tea in my Teahouse, that’s just wrong.”

Thorin huffed in amusement, the puff of air stirring a few of Bilbo’s curls, making him exponentially aware of Thorin’s presence at his side. “You’re in the right profession, that’s for sure.”

“I like to think so.”

They stood silent, watching the steam rise out of the teapot in companionable silence. The stillness was broken all-too-quickly as Bilbo’s timer went off and he removed the pot’s strainer, popping it in the sink. He put the lid on and walked over to the small kitchen table, placing it down in the middle. “Well? Come on now, make yourself useful and gets us two cups, will you?”

“Right, on it.” He fetched two hideous floral pink mugs from the shelf and walked over to sit across from Bilbo.

“Now remember, this tea is different from what you’re used too. If you don’t like it, it’s absolutely fine.”

“Stop fussing and pour the damned tea.” 

He smiled cheekily and poured as directed. “Pu-erh is really good for digestion and is rumoured to cure hangovers, so I keep a small tin next to the kettle for when I need it.” Bilbo took a sip and sighed contentedly, the earthy taste rolling over his tongue. “Aah, lovely."

Thorin sniffed the cup curiously and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened in horror, but he was determined and swallowed it down. “It’s… different,” he choked.

“Yes, it’s definitely not your usual English Breakfast now, is it?”

“No, not at all…” He blew on the mug and took another sip, crinkling his nose afterwards.

He watched Thorin curiously, thoroughly entertained. It was painfully obvious that the politician hated the tea, but was trying as hard as he could to hide it. Bilbo took another sip, humming contentedly. “This really is a fine brew, thank you again for sharing it with me.”

“Anytime.” He replied curtly, taking another pained sip.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Bilbo trying his hardest not to stare at Thorin while he wrestled with the tea’s strong flavour. Luckily, the politician was glaring at the offending teacup the entire time, so missed his audience’s observations.

Bilbo finished his mug and refilled it. “Would you like a top-up, Thorin?”

“Sure.”

He forced down a chuckle as he refilled the cup before him, only filling it three-quarters of the way. “It’s a lot cooler now, so you can drink it faster.”

“How _fantastic.”_ Thorin answered tersely as he winced and took another sip. He lowered the mug and actually coughed, and that was it for Bilbo, it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Thorin,  _ please _ just stop. I can tell you hate it, you don’t have to drink the stupid tea. I won’t think less of you, I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled warmly and put his hand briefly over Thorin's. “It’s just tea. I think I’ll be fine.” Bilbo winked at him and returned his hand to his lap, and missed how the corner of Thorin’s mouth twitched downwards as he removed it.

Bilbo downed the rest of his cup and sighed happily, patting his stomach. “So, how come you ended up staying home while everyone else went out and had fun without you?”

Thorin rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head as he did so. “Too much paperwork, I’m afraid. Such is the  _ glamorous _ life of a politician.” He drawled casually, shrugging.

_“Wait._ You have work you need to be doing? Why the hell have you been sitting here with me and drinking tea that you hate? I’m keeping you away from work, I’m so sorry-”

Bilbo moved as if he was about to get up and Thorin stilled him with a hand on his forearm. “If I had lots of work to do I would have spoken up, you have nothing to apologise for. I needed a break anyway, the report I was going over was  _ exceptionally _ dull.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, concerned he was being an imposition.

He chuckled and leant back, removing his hand from Bilbo’s arm. “Very sure, stop worrying.”

“Right. Yes.” He tapped the handle of his mug absentmindedly and glanced around the kitchen, unsure where to go from there.

Sensing Bilbo’s discomfort, he changed the subject. “So, tell me. Why did you actually come over tonight?”

“Oh. I completely forgot about that.” He gestured behind himself, towards the small basket. “I was needing some cheese from Bombur, I’m making savoury scones and ran out of Cheddar.”

“I think he has a few wheels of it in the second pantry?”

“You have a _second pantry._ Filled with _wheels of cheese.”_ He asked incredulously, eyebrows raised.

“Bombur is very… _passionate_ about cooking.”

“With a cheese pantry, I should bloody think so!”

He stood up slowly and beckoned. “I’ll show you, come on.”

“Brilliant.” He followed Thorin out of the kitchen and to a small door under the staircase. “Uh Thorin, I thought you said pantry... This is some Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs bullshit. I’m not squeezing in there with you.”

“It goes further than just the width of the staircase, it’s not cramped.” He opened the door and took a step inside, switching on the light. “See?”

Bilbo squinted warily at the taller man and walked over, peering inside. The pantry was a small, dry room with lilac painted walls and dark floorboards, its angled roof tall enough at the highest point for Thorin to stand up at his full height. Tall wooden shelves lined the two far walls, filled with bottles of wine and various-shaped wheels of cheese. A few shelves of spare bedding and towels lined the short wall to the right, all in hideously bright patterns, matching the rest of the cottage.

“You’re right, it’s _huge_ for a second pantry.” He teased as he walked inside and stood behind Thorin, who was reading the labels on a stack of cheeses.

“I did say so… All right, so this one is an aged Gouda, and this one… Cheddar. Here, grab this one.” He tossed the wheel of cheese at Bilbo, who fumbled it and promptly fell backwards, ran into the door and slammed it shut. Bilbo slid down the door till he was on the floor, legs sprawled in front of him, and Thorin rushed over to see if he was hurt. “Shit, sorry! I thought you were closer than you actually were.”

Bilbo cradled the wheel of cheese against his chest and looked up at the concerned politician. “I’m fine, calm down.” He took Thorin’s outstretched hand and was pulled up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He turned around and tugged at the door handle, but nothing happened. It rattled loudly, but didn’t budge.

Thorin reached over his shoulder and joined in, pulling at the antique copper handle. Still nothing.

Bilbo turned around slowly and stared up at Thorin dangerously.

“You are  _ so _ fucking dead.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go baybey, first proper trope!   
> Oh no they’re locked in a room at night while everyone is out, whatever shall they do!?!
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.


	7. Balin Fundinson: Campaign Manager and Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin call The Company for help,  
> Balin has other ideas,  
> And trousers are removed.

Thorin took a step backwards, raising his hands in surrender. “I had no idea that would happen, I swear to you.”

“That’s all well and good, Thorin, but it still doesn’t change the fact that  _ we’re locked in a fucking pantry!” _ Bilbo exclaimed, stabbing his index finger into Thorin’s chest. “What were you thinking, throwing something to me? I’m the clumsiest person on the planet!”

He shrugged. “How was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know, maybe _ask._ Or think twice before you start throwing a wheel of cheese around like it’s some sort of _dairy bouquet_.”

“Dairy bouquet?” Thorin asked in amusement, making Bilbo’s face redden in anger.

“Yes, Thorin.  _ Shut up _ .” He walked to the centre of the small room and started pacing. “I hate feeling trapped like this, try the door again.”

“I’m sure I can force it open.” Thorin jiggled the handle and pressed his shoulder against the door, preparing to push.

Bilbo tutted and stormed over, pulling him back by the elbow. “And ruin this heritage listed cottage? Not on my watch.” He patted his pockets. “I’ve left my phone in the kitchen. Shit. Did you bring yours?”

Thorin reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out his phone. “I have three percent battery left.”

He released a high-pitched laugh. “Of course you do, because nothing could go bloody right for once, could it!” Bilbo held his hand out expectantly. “Give it here, best make those three percent count.”

“Despite what you may think of me, Bilbo, I can make a call on my own.”

“We have maybe five minutes worth of battery left on your phone and we need to call Balin. If you do it, he’ll spend the first four minutes rattling on about work and we need to be fast, we don’t have the luxury. I’ll deal with him.” He shook his outstretched hand. “You know I’m right, hand it over.”

“Fine. Make sure he hurries.” 

He huffed. _“Trust me,_ I don’t want to be stuck in here any more than you do. As lovely as it is spending time together, I have important baking that needs doing.”

“It could have been a lot worse, we could’ve been locked in the sitting room.” He teased, cracking a small smile.

Bilbo shuddered. “Please don’t make me imagine what that would be like, I’ll have a coronary.”

Thorin unlocked his phone, brought up Balin’s number, and handed it over. “Good luck, Balin can be a troublemaker when he wants to be."

“Oh sweetheart. You haven’t met my family.” He patted Thorin’s cheek. "Trust me, i’ve got this.” Bilbo steeled himself, took in a quick breath, and pressed the call button.

“Thorin! Calling to complain about all that paperwork you’re doing? Remember - I _did_ say those files could wait till tomorrow, this pain is your own making.” Balin chuckled, the sounds of glasses chinking and the other members of the company chatting merrily in the background.

“Actually it’s me, Bilbo. We’re in a spot of bother and need your help.”

_ “Bilbo?”  _ He covered the mouth piece, blatantly obvious that he was relaying this information to everyone around the table. “-sorry about that, Bofur just had to tell me something. So laddie, how can I help you?”

“Don’t make fun… But Thorin and I are locked in the second pantry, the one under the stairs.” Balin covered the mouthpiece again, and the sounds of muffled laugher leaked through the phone. Bilbo glared up at Thorin and covered his microphone as well, hissing “they’re fucking laughing, Thorin. I thought you said they were professionals.”

“They’re off-duty. They can do what they like.” Thorin shrugged.

“Stop being so reasonable, its annoying.” He clenched his jaw and uncovered the microphone. “Yes, it’s bloody hilarious, but we really do need some help.”

Balin made a thoughtful hum. “Well, you see, we’re in the middle of dinner right now. We’ll be at the cottage within the hour.”

_"Are_ _you serious!?_ We’re locked in a cabinet and you have the audacity to down another pint before you come rescue us?”

“Well, the mains have just arrived, see. It would be a _real shame_ to put good food to waste.”

Bilbo pursed his lips, restraining himself from swearing colourfully at the older man. “Fine, just… hurry. _Please.”_

“Aye, laddie. We’ll be there in a jiffy, just make yourselves comfortable. I’m pretty sure I saw a fine ’95 Merlot in there that you two could drink while you wait.”

“Great idea, just one small problem. There are no loos in here.”

“There’s a window?”

_“Goodbye,_ Balin.”

\---

Balin slid his phone into his suit breast pocket and smiled broadly at his captivated audience, waggling his eyebrows. “Well, it seems our resident Hobbit and Thorin are locked in a cupboard together, Bilbo seems rather frustrated with the situation.” The company burst into raucous laughter, slapping each other on the back and whooping.

“He’s only frustrated because there isn’t a bed in there, am I right lads!” Bofur exclaimed boisterously, taking a long swig from his beer as a few of the company cheered in agreement.

“Hold your tongue.” Dwalin warned, glaring daggers at him. He turned to his brother, lowering his voice. “One of us could head over now, get them out and make sure they’re safe. I’m happy to do it, I don’t need to eat.”

He smiled innocently up at him. “Actually, brother dear, I was thinking of leaving them in there for a while, give them an opportunity to have a little chat. It’ll do them some good.”

“What if there’s an emergency and they’re in danger?” He replied, scowl deepening.

Balin shook his head, tutting fondly. “You worry too much about Thorin, you know that? It’s  _ Hobbiton _ . They’ll be fine.” He had a sip of red wine. “If there is any real danger I’m sure he can break down the door, you know how Thorin insists on doing his daily workouts. Man’s fit as a fiddle."

“I can’t ignore my responsibilities to Thorin as Head of Security."

“Well then, pay attention to your responsibilities as his closest _friend.”_ He leaned in closer. “You know they need to talk and this is the perfect situation. They’re on neutral ground, both sober, and neither of them can run away. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

Dwalin scowled. “I still don’t like it.”

A polite cough interrupted the two brothers, who turned their heads and found Ori hovering behind them. The p.a. was staring at the ground and fidgeting with the corner of his chunky knitted cardigan, his discomfort evident. “I’m sorry for cutting in, and I know it’s none of my business, but I agree with Balin.”

Balin smirked at his brother whilst Dwalin gazed fondly up at Ori, still avoiding their gaze. “He speaks the truth, little brother. We should listen to him.”

Ori smiled bashfully down at Dwalin, who’s ears started turning a lovely shade of beetroot red under the attention. “It’s… just… I talked to Bilbo earlier tonight, and he seems really keen on Thorin. I think they need to talk it out a bit.”

“Words of wisdom, laddie.” Balin elbowed his brother in the ribs, making him scowl. “I’ve always found that honesty is the best policy, especially when dealing with important matters of the heart."

Dwalin coughed uncomfortably. “Fine, you both win. We leave them.” He pointed at Balin in warning. "But only for an hour, after that I’m gonnae rescue them my bloody self.”

The p.a. beamed down at him and nodded excitedly. “Of course, no longer than an hour. Thank you, Dwalin. I think they need this.”

“It’s fine…” He gruffly muttered under his breath, finishing off the last mouthful of his pint.

“Oh, let me get you another.” Ori offered, wringing his hands.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m quite capable of getting my own drinks.” Dwalin replied, staring down into his empty glass.

“But… I want to.”

He looked up at Ori, who held himself like he was ready to sprint away at any second. The poor man was terrified. “Alright, then. That would be most kind of you.”

Ori beamed, making Dwalin’s stomach do a little flip. “I’ll go get you one now, did you want the same?”

“Aye, any ale is fine...”

“Great!” The p.a. nodded and sped off, headed for the bar. Dwalin groaned, rubbing one hand over his face.

“Well, you most certainly know how to make the lad feel comfortable around you, don’t you now?” Balin tutted.

_ “Piss off.” _

Balin snorted and slid his phone under the table, opening a new text to Bofur.

**Balin Fundinson: We’re filling my brother with enough ale so we can stay here till closing, agreed?**

Bofur checked his phone, grinned, and winked across the table at him.

“Why Balin you sly dog, you read my mind.”

\---

Bilbo pulled a floral duvet down from the top of the shelves, grunting under the sudden weight as it fell into his arms. He kneeled and spread it on the floor on top of another duvet, rolling up half of it against the wall so it could be used as a backrest. Three floral pillows and a lilac faux fur blanket joined them in the cosy corner, which he was now walking around on barefoot. There was no need to unnecessarily dirty them, plus, he enjoyed how the silkiness of the faux fur felt between his toes.

He fluffed up one of the pillows and sat against the wall, shoving the pillow down to the small of his back. Bilbo hummed to himself as he put his arms behind his head and stared up at the decorative tin-pressed roof, one leg crossed over the other. There were no books or ways to entertain himself in there, so staring up at the ceiling and trying to decipher the different shapes made by the shadows was his only source of amusement. 

Thorin wasn’t being any help, choosing instead to stand by the small circular window at the other end of the room and scowl out into the night sky, awaiting their rescue.

The sitting position became uncomfortable after a while, so he slumped down and put another pillow under his head, lying flat. He let out a satisfied sigh, and heard Thorin chuckle as he turned around and looked down at him.

“What?” Bilbo asked as he propped himself up by his elbows.

“I heard you fussing about with blankets back there, but I had no idea you were planning to move in.”

Bilbo looked around his arrangement of blankets, then back up at Thorin. He shrugged. “Well… since we might be here a while, I figured I might as well get cosy.”

“Please, make yourself as comfortable as you like. Just know I’m not taking the blame when the housekeeper finds out you’ve dirtied all her favourite vintage duvet covers.”

“Shit, really? I’ll make her a cake or something tomorrow to apologise.” 

Thorin laughed softly, shaking his head. “I’m just teasing, I’m sure she’s forgotten they’re even here.” He took a step forward, eyeing the cosy corner with interest. “May I join you in your little nest?” Thorin asked softly, deep voice rumbling in his chest.

The Hobbit blushed and nodded, surprised by Thorin's sudden tenderness. “S-sure, I believe there’s room for two.” He swallowed. "You’re lucky I’m so small, otherwise your ridiculous shoulders wouldn’t fit. Heh.” Bilbo laughed breathily.

“I’ll try my best not to crush you.” He teased gently as he turned back to the shelves and picked up a bottle of wine, then walked over. Thorin stood at the edge of the blankets and waited patiently as Bilbo sat up and shuffled to the side, making room.

“Stop hovering and come sit down, you silly bugger.” Bilbo said as he sat in the corner and pulled the lilac blanket over his legs, wriggling under the covers.

“With that lovely invitation, how could I ever resist?” Thorin kneeled by the side of the blankets, placed the bottle of wine down and crawled forward over the duvets on his knees, sitting crossed-legged across from Bilbo.

“You look ridiculous.” Bilbo smiled warmly, resting back against the wall.

“What? It’s comfortable.” He reached for the bottle of wine and unscrewed the cap. “I know it isn’t socially acceptable to drink from the bottle, but we seem to have no glasses available.” Thorin took a swig, then licked the side of his mouth as a drop started to trickle down his chin.

Bilbo gulped dryly, staring at his mouth. “Don’t care, give it here.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow and handed the bottle over. “I distinctly remember a certain someone giving Balin grief over the the lack of bathrooms available.”

He shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of the rich red liquid. “It’s only one bottle and we’ll be out in under an hour. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright, you’re the boss.” The politician huffed out his nose in amusement as he rolled forward on his knees and took the wine out of Bilbo’s hand, having another sip. 

“I must say Thorin, you look pretty comfortable drinking wine straight out of the bottle for someone I’ve never seen out of a suit until today.”

Thorin snorted, running his fingers through his hair. “Despite what you may think, I _was_ young once."

“You grew up in a bloody  _ castle _ , Thorin. I highly doubt you drank cheap wine out of a paper bag in the woods like the rest of us plebs.”

“You’d be surprised, Dwalin was a pretty bad influence when we were in our teens. Sometimes I wonder if he’s such a hard-arse about his job because he’s making up for lost time.”

Bilbo grinned. “What’s the worst trouble you two have gotten into?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Go on, I’ll tell you something in return if you do.”

Thorin unscrewed the cap of the wine and downed a mouthful with a loud _gulp._ “Dwalin and I were around… fifteen I think? We had gone out with some of the boys from school to go drink in the park behind the library and got very, very drunk. Dwalin helped me sneak back into the house, and we thought we had gotten away with it... but Dis found us in the hallway creeping about in the dark and gave us such a scare, and a lecture afterwards, that we never did it again.” He shuddered. “She was eight at the time, but absolutely terrifying.”

Bilbo snorted from laughter and covered his face in embarrassment at the loud noise. “Wait. So the worst trouble you’ve ever been in was from your baby sister?”

“As a boy, yes.” He paused. “If you ever meet her, you’ll understand.” Thorin added seriously, void of all humour.

“The more I hear about your sister the more I like her.”

Thorin nodded and passed the wine. “She is to be feared and respected, my sister. I mean, she raised Fili and Kili. They’re  _ exhausting _ .”

“I haven’t talked to them much but they seem like good boys, those two.”

“When they’re not causing trouble or in the papers, they are.” He leaned against the wall. “I got Ori’s text about them working in the Teahouse, it’s not a bad idea. I’ll talk to Balin about it tomorrow.”

“I didn’t come up with it, Ori did. I don’t urgently need the help.”

Thorin nodded. “I know, but it might be good for them. I think they’re starting to die of boredom in this cottage."

“Sure, chat to Balin and let me know. No rush.” Bilbo sipped at the wine twice, deliberating whether he should ask the question he wanted to or not. He put the wine down between them and cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to their father? Nobody seems to have mentioned him, that’s all...”

“Dis had the boys quite young, their father didn’t stick around.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, the man was an arse and didn’t treat her well, I’m glad he left. Dis was more than capable to raise them on her own and I chipped in when I could. We all did.”

“They look up to you, I can tell.”

Thorin rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not so sure about that, it would be nice if they did what I asked now and again.”

“They’re young, they’ll grow out of it.” Bilbo brought his knees up against his chest and pulled his arms around them. “Plus, they’ve had a lot of grief from the media in the past, I can imagine that being a lot of pressure.”

“I’m hoping it’ll be a learning experience for them, shape them into better people.” He sipped at the wine. “One of the joys of coming from an old family and being in politics is that nothing is a secret and everything is in the public eye. I’m surprised the press haven’t caught wind of my time here yet.”

Bilbo held out his hand and Thorin passed the bottle. “I’m sure it’s Nori to thank for that... Are you  _ sure _ he’s not a spy?”

He chuckled. “He’s not a spy. He likes to think of himself as a _communications expert.”_

“That title sounds like it came straight out of a Bond film.”

“No it… fine,  _ now _ it sounds like it came from one. But he isn’t a spy, he’s far too lazy for that.” Thorin smirked. “And I know you’re stalling, Bilbo. I believe you owe me an embarrassing story.”

“I suppose I do…” He frowned at the ceiling in thought. “Well, there is the time that I accidentally picked up an Irish accent and made a cute guy nearly hit me.”

“What do you mean you  _ accidentally _ picked up an accent?”

He laughed awkwardly. “Well, sometimes I sort of… absorb the accent of who I’m talking to? It happens completely subconsciously, and I hate it because I worry that people think I’m mocking them.” He sat up straight. “Anyways, so this gorgeous Irish guy knocks at my door, I think he was selling Solar panels or something, we got chatting and thirty seconds in I sounded like I was from the same town as him. So he starts flirting with me, it’s going well, until he asks me where I’m from, and I say here. And he just looks at me and goes ‘ _Yes, but where are you from before here?’_ and all I could say was _‘…Always been here_ ’. My God, you should have seen his face - he shoots me this _filthy_ _look_ that makes me feel like an absolute dick and storms off. Oh God it was so embarrassing, I wish the ground would have opened up and swallowed me whole.” He covered his face, groaning into his hands.

“How come you haven’t absorbed my accent, then? Should I be jealous?”

Bilbo peered from between his fingers. “It’s not really an accent, Thorin. Your vocal cords are made of  _ gravel _ .”

“Thanks, really.” 

“No… I like it.” He blushed at the admission, reached for the wine, and took another mouthful. Bilbo put the bottle down and looked at Thorin, who was watching him intently. “What?”

Thorin looked down at his lips. “It’s just that you’ve got a drop of wine running down your chin.”

He wiped the left side of his face with the back of his hand. “Better?” Thorin shook his head, so Bilbo tried the other side.

“Look, just let me…” He reached forward and ran the edge of his thumb across the border of Bilbo’s bottom lip, from the corner of his mouth to the middle, his other four fingers cupping the Hobbit's chin gently. “I… I think I got it...” Thorin faded off, utterly distracted as he toyed with the plush pink lip, pulling it down, and Bilbo’s tongue darted out and licked. 

Bilbo held Thorin’s gaze as he moved the bottle of wine aside and slowly moved forward, resting on his knees with his hands braced on Thorin’s strong, muscular thighs. He watched Thorin closely, scanning his face for a hint of resistance as their breathing turned uneven, lips only a few inches apart.

All he could find in Thorin’s darkened eyes was desire, so he surged forward and pressed his lips against the rough politician’s and felt the man freeze. He stayed there for another second and pulled back, furrowing his brow. “But I thought you-” 

Thorin cut him off with a rough kiss, grabbing him by the back of the neck. He let out a low moan, making Bilbo shiver and lean forward, putting all his weight on Thorin’s thighs.

They exchanged a few slow kisses, Thorin’s hands cupping Bilbo’s face, until the politician tilted their heads and deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out and licking Bilbo’s lower lip. The Hobbit whimpered and climbed forward, straddling his massive thighs, and wrapped his arms around Thorin's broad shoulders. Bilbo reached up and ran his fingers through Thorin’s dark hair, tugging at it lightly, and keened as the politician groaned raggedly and pulled him close, one arm snaking around the shorter man’s waist.

Bilbo smiled against his lips and deepened the kiss even further, his tongue plunging into Thorin’s mouth. He responded by grabbing Bilbo’s arse and pulled him flush against his chest, moaning loudly when he felt the front of their trousers line up, the heat of their trapped erections radiating between them.

“ _ Fuck _ .” Bilbo gasped as he rolled his hips experimentally against Thorin’s, the sensation making them both break the kiss and pant raggedly, foreheads pressed together. “Oh god, you’re so hot.” He removed his fingers from Thorin’s hair, wound his arms around the taller man’s neck and grinded against Thorin in earnest, arching his back as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

He watched Bilbo with heavy lidded eyes as the Hobbit used Thorin's broad shoulders repeatedly to lift himself up, then roll his hips down and grind his crotch against Thorin’s tented tracksuit bottoms. “Oh…  _ God _ .” He moaned as Bilbo rolled his hips excruitiatingly slow, tilting forward to bite Thorin’s lower lip, a jolt of electricity going straight to his cock.

That was it, Thorin couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to  _ touch _ Bilbo, explore every inch of him, not just sit there and let the shorter man do all the work.

Thorin began kissing Bilbo’s neck fervently as the Hobbit mewled softly, his hips picking up the pace. He continued his exploration of Bilbo’s soft skin as he curled an arm around the Hobbit’s waist and shifted forward until they were lying on the blankets, Thorin looming over Bilbo.

“Is this okay? Are you okay?” Thorin asked breathily, licking a stripe down his neck.

Bilbo arched up, pressing in close. “This is amazing, I’m so okay. I’m the best I’ve ever been.”

“Good.” He ran the tip of his his nose down Bilbo’s throat and smiled against the soft pale skin there when he felt the Hobbit do a full-body shudder. “I want you to feel so good.” Thorin gently bit Bilbo’s collarbone and groaned at the back of his throat when Bilbo’s hands slid up the back of his shirt, digging his nails into the politician’s back. 

“Yes, God, Thorin, _please.”_ Bilbo babbled, losing his grip on reality. He was a frazzled mess, every nerve ending alight, his body chanting _Thorin! Thorin! Thorin!_

“What do you want, Bilbo?” He asked roughly, voice deep from arousal.

“Oh God- I don’t know, I-“

“What about this?” Thorin ducked his head, lifted up Bilbo’s shirt, and dragged his tongue across a nipple. 

“Jesus Christ!” Bilbo’s eyes burst open, his hips rocking up.

He chuckled, hands rubbing up and down Bilbo’s sides. “Oh you liked that, did you?” Thorin sat up and straddled him, hands moving to the bottom of Bilbo’s shirt. “Can I remove this?”

Bilbo gawped and nodded, at a loss for words. Thorin licked his lips and reached forward, stripping him from the waist up, and threw the shirt unceremoniously behind them. His hands wandered over the expanse of soft, lightly freckled skin, exploring the curves and dips of his torso. “You’re gorgeous, Bilbo.”

“Oh _God.”_ The Hobbit whined in the back of his throat, high pitched, covering his face with a forearm. 

Thorin removed his own shirt and lowered himself back down, sucking in a sharp breath at the skin-to-skin contact. He kissed under Bilbo’s chin, one hand toying with a nipple. “Still okay?”

”Mmhmm.” He nodded enthusiastically, face still hidden.

”Good, let me know. I’ll stop if it ever gets too much.” 

Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s broad shoulders, fingers digging in. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, you better finish what you’ve started.” He demanded, suddenly finding his words.

“Seems only fair.” Thorin hummed and started sliding down Bilbo’s body, kissing sloppily as he went. 

He released Thorin from his grasp and propped himself up with his elbows so he could watch. “God, Thorin. If only you could see how hot you look right now. You’re killing me.” 

Thorin wetly kissed the warm skin just above his trapped erection and shot Bilbo a heated look. “I haven’t even started, I'm going to ruin you.” He shifted and unzipped Bilbo’s trousers, pulling them down mid-thigh. Thorin’s eyes raked over Bilbo’s body, breathing uneven as he shot Bilbo a filthy look and bent down, licking a stripe up Bilbo’s clothed length, pausing at the tip to suck gently.

“Jesus Christ!” Bilbo’s elbows slipped out from under him and he covered his face with a pillow. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” He chanted as Thorin continued teasing him, sucking wetly through the fabric.

Thorin paused his ministrations at the top of Bilbo’s pants elastic and shot him a ravenous look, resting his chin on the Hobbit’s stomach, face framed by Bilbo’s thighs. “Can I remove these? I want to see you.” He tugged gently at the waistband, eyes dark. _“All_ of you.”

“Fuck yes!” Bilbo shot up and shuffled back, kicking out to remove his trousers-  and knocked the bottle of wine over, spilling its contents everywhere. “Oh,  _ shit!” _

Thorin jumped up and rushed to the linen closet, grabbing a few dark towels before he returned to the mess and handed one to Bilbo. They held the towels against the wine spill, which was now the size of a dinner plate, Bilbo cursing under his breath. 

“This is my fault, I shouldn’t have left the wine open like that.” Bilbo lifted up a corner of the towel and winced. “That housekeeper of yours is going to murder you, this duvet it ruined.”

“ _ Not as ruined as the moment.” _ Thorin muttered inaudibly under his breath, angrily pressing the towels into the duvet.

They mopped up the wine mess in silence, both returning to their normal, un-flustered selves. Once happy with the state of the spill, Bilbo sat back on the blankets, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did- uh- did you want to keep going, or....”

Thorin shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“What time is it?” He asked as he picked up the wine-stained towels and threw them in a pile at the other side of the room.

“Around eleven-thirty, I don’t think they’ll be coming back any time soon.”

“Shit.” Bilbo cursed. “I have to be up so early in the morning.”

Thorin looked at the makeshift bed, and back at Bilbo. “Well, there’s room for two here. We may as well call it a night.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Are you sure? I’m quite happy to keep going, I don’t need _that_ much sleep...”

The politician rolled his eyes and grabbed Bilbo’s hand, pulling him down towards himself and the blankets. “You‘ll be grumpy tomorrow if you’re tired, we can finish this some other time. There’s no rush.”

“Rude.” Bilbo grumbled, instantly placated by Thorin’s arms around him. He kicked off his trousers and rested his head on the politician’s furred chest, closing his eyes. “Light’s still on, though. Maybe you should do something about it.”

He snorted and stood up, pushing Bilbo unceremoniously to the side. “Of course, your majesty.” He flicked off the light and returned to their makeshift bed, wrapping himself around Bilbo’s back. “Better?”

”Much better, thank you.” He hummed contentedly, wiggling back into Thorin’s arms. “How are you so warm? You’re like a bloody heater.”

“I grew up in the mountains. English weather is nothing compared to an Ereborean winter.”

Bilbo hummed. “Makes sense, I guess.” He yawned, smacking his lips. “Night, sweetheart.”

Thorin pressed a kiss against Bilbo’s shoulder. “Night.”

\---

Bofur turned around and shushed the rest of the group, who were whispering excitedly about what they were going to find when they opened the pantry door. He gestured for them all to go upstairs and to bed, shooting them a dangerous look when they opened their mouths to protest. “I’ll tell you what happens in the morning, lads. Now off to bed.” He turned to Balin, who was supporting a rather drunk Dwalin. “Especially you two, I think you should sleep in his room tonight just to make sure he’s alright.”

“I agree, laddie. You take Nori and check on Thorin, I’ll sort everyone out.”

“Cheers Balin, you’re a diamond.” Bofur nodded at Nori to follow and they walked down the hallway silently, making their way to the pantry door.

Nori jiggled the doorknob, satisfied that it was indeed jammed. “It’s these old doorknobs, the lock often gets stuck.” He retrieved a lock-pick kit from of his pocket and started working at the door, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on the lock.

The door made a satisfying  _ click! _ and swung open, revealing a dark, silent room. Nori and Bofur stuck their heads around the door, Bofur stifling a bark of laughter as he saw the picture before him. Thorin was spooning Bilbo like an octopus, limbs everywhere, their clothes thrown about the place. He sniffed, and grinned at Nori. “The place stinks of wine, looks like someone had some fun.”

Bofur and Nori closed the door quietly behind themselves, leaving it slightly ajar.

“I don’t know about you Nori, but I’m going upstairs and telling  _ everyone _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m keeping the rating at M for now, but it’ll probably jump up to E soon.  
> Very. Soon.
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.


	8. Babysitting Hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin wake up in the pantry,  
> Dwalin gives a lecture,  
> And Bilbo does some babysitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic has been upped to Explicit, enjoy!

Bilbo scrunched his nose as he woke up, opening one eye experimentally in the early morning light. It was just after sunrise, the pale sunshine filtering down through the small circular window, leaving a golden halo on the ground near the end of the makeshift bed. He relaxed, knowing he had more time to sleep, so closed his eyes and shuffled backwards into the heat behind him, and felt an arm tighten around his middle.

His eyes shot open.

That’s right. He wasn’t alone.

 _“Oh my god.”_ He mouthed happily, peering down to see a furred muscly arm wrapped around his soft belly. Thorin was still curled around him like an octopus, slowly cutting off the circulation to his left arm. He tried wriggling forward, but the movement only stirred Thorin and made him pull the Hobbit tighter against his chest.

After five minutes of trying to escape he gave up and went limp, resigned to his fate. Bilbo lay his head back down on the pillow and let out a long sigh. He wasn't going anywhere fast, RIP his arm. Thorin was far too strong.

He felt the curls at the back of his head stir as Thorin chuckled behind him. 

“Finally given up on your escape, burglar?” He asked, voice rugged and thick with sleep.

“Morning.” Bilbo snorted. “And what do you mean _burglar?”_

Thorin yawned and brought his knees up, curling the couple into a ball. “You stole the blankets last night.”

“Yes, well, it’s morning now. You can have them all to yourself.”

He groaned and nuzzled into the back of Bilbo’s neck. “It’s too early. Mmmmore time to sleep…” Thorin dozed off, his heavy breathing ruffling Bilbo’s hair.

“Thorin?” He whispered, trying to pull the heavy arm from around his middle. _“Thorin?"_ Bilbo hissed urgently, trying to wriggle free.

“Hmmm?”

“I'm losing the feeling in my left arm, let me go please.”

“Nnnnno” He replied groggily, lips brushing Bilbo’s nape.

 _“For goodness sake.”_ Bilbo poked him in the side. “Thorin, wake up. You’re crushing me.”

“W-What?”

“Please wake up, sweetheart. My left arm is going numb.”

He felt Thorin freeze behind him. “Bilbo, I am so sorry.” Thorin pulled his arm back, rubbing his eyes. “Are you ok?”

Bilbo rolled onto his other side, now face-to-face with the politician. “It’s quite alright, no harm done.” 

“Okay good.” He smacked his lips contentedly and closed his eyes, rubbing a hand up and down Bilbo’s side. “Did you sleep well?"

“Like a rock.” Bilbo shuffled closer, tucking his head under Thorin’s chin.

“Me too, good job on making the bed.”

“You’re welcome.” He yawned and slid his arm around the politician’s waist, tucking his fingertips into the back of Thorin’s pants. It was casual and comfortable, no sexual intent to it, the Hobbit only desiring to be close. “Can I ask you something? I wanted to last night but fell asleep.” He felt the politician nod, so continued. “You mentioned that you and Dwalin got up to lots of trouble when you were kids, did you ever…”

Thorin laughed softly. “Yes, actually. Dwalin was my first kiss.”

Bilbo shifted back so he could meet his eye. “That’s really sweet. Were you his first as well?”

“I was. I think we were… thirteen? Dwalin helped me come out to my parents shortly after.”

He beamed, eyes crinkling. “That’s so lovely. I’m glad you didn’t have to do it alone.”

“We’ve been friends since we were five, he’s always been by my side.” Thorin tangled their legs together and moved his head so they shared the same pillow. “We were both so nervous when we kissed for the first time. I thought he would punch me in the face, and he thought I’d run off and never talk to him again.”

“You little angels! That’s adorable.” 

Thorin nodded. “We dated through high school, but when I left for University we decided to go back to being friends.” He laughed suddenly, remembering how obnoxious they were. “I’m glad we did, near the end of our relationship we were so annoying, our friends begged us to break up so many times I lost count.”

Bilbo kicked his leg gently. “Go on, details please. Just how bad were you two, exactly?”

The politician groaned. “Dwalin and I were that particular breed of couple who wouldn’t stop touching and kissing, much to our friends horror... We had no sense of personal space or boundaries in public, we were a mess.”

 _“Dwalin?_ Big tattooed Dwalin? With the beard and the bald head?” He laughed brightly. "Are we talking about the same person?”

“You haven’t seen him in a relationship, it’s disgusting.” Thorin shook his head. "And this is coming from his ex-boyfriend, so trust me. It’s bad.”

“The more I think about it, the more I can see it. Huh. Fancy that.” Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. “Well, the way him and Ori are going, we might see that side of him sooner than we think.”

“If he finally gets his act together, that is.” Thorin ran his fingertips up and down Bilbo’s arm. “You don’t mind?” He asked, voice soft and curious.

He frowned. “Mind what?”

“Dwalin and I. Our past.”

“Oh sweetheart, I can tell it’s ancient history.” Bilbo tilted his chin and gave Thorin a quick peck on the lips. “Plus, I don’t have a jealous bone in my body.” He paused. "And I mean… you and I haven’t made any promises to each other, we haven’t had _that_ chat yet, so why would I mind? You know?” 

“I thought you wouldn’t mind, but I wanted to check.” He wriggled closer. “Did… did you want to have that chat?"

Bilbo bit his bottom lip. “Maybe? Not now, though. It’s probably a touch early. We’ve only known each other for, what, less than two weeks? We barely know each other.” He said simply, shrugging, words honest and transparent. “Did you want to? Have the chat, that is."

He shook his head. “I agree, it’s probably too soon.”

“I mean… if we’re checking in with each other, please know I really enjoy your company and I think you’re gorgeous.” Bilbo said, looking up through his lashes.

Thorin cupped his face and kissed Bilbo gently, a few small pecks. “I enjoy your company too, and you’re….” he pulled back. "...okay looking, I suppose.”

“Hey!” He yelped, poking him playfully in the side. “I’m fucking stunning, how dare you!”

“I’m sorry!” Thorin raised his hands in surrender, protecting himself from the Hobbit’s attacks. “I was joking, you’re very handsome."

Bilbo pointed a finger at him in warning. “And don’t you forget it."

"I said I was sorry!” Thorin wrapped his arms around the Hobbit. “I’m really glad you don’t mind about Dwalin, I’ve had people in the past feel threatened by our history and how much time we spend together."

“It’s… uhhh… it’s kinda _hot,_ actually.” The Hobbit admitted quietly, biting his bottom lip. “The thought of you and Dwalin… you know… _exploring_ each other. Discovering what you like. Sneaking around.”

Thorin’s eyes darted to his mouth. “Yeah?"

“Yeah… “ Bilbo nodded, gulping dryly. “I mean. What… what did you two do together?"

“We had sex, if that’s what you’re asking." He pulled Bilbo closer by the hip. “We were young and excited, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” 

“Your _hands,_ hmm?” Bilbo’s toes curled. “Go on.” He paused and pressed a hand against Thorin’s chest. “I mean... wait. Is this weird? Are we doing this right now?”

“I don’t think it‘s weird, I’m on board if you are.” He ran his hand down the Hobbit’s back and cupped his arse. “Dwalin and I were the same age and everything was consensual. We can... uhh... _talk_ about it.” 

He grinned mischievously. “I mean, are we going to just _talk_ about it or is this turning into what I think it is?” Bilbo waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re incorrigible.” He said flatly, unimpressed.

Bilbo held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just double-checking it’s okay that we’re getting excited talking about teenage Dwalin and you fooling around.” He stole another quick kiss. “Communication is key, and all that.”

“Yes yes, you’re right.” Thorin rolled them over and straddled Bilbo. “Consider me _checked-in.”_ He reached down and pinned Bilbo’s wrists to the bed. “Now, did you want me to continue my story or not?”

“Y-yes please.” Bilbo struggled once against Thorin’s hold, testing his strength. His hands didn’t budge. The Hobbit swallowed dryly and went slack, pupils blowing wide.

“That’s right.” Thorin licked his lips. “I thought as much.” He released the Hobbit’s left hand and started stroking Bilbo over his pants, teasing and light. “Dwalin and I mostly used our hands, whenever we could get a moment alone together.”

Bilbo moaned and rocked his hips upward. “Go on."

“This one time when we were 17, Dwalin grabbed me at school and pushed me into a cupboard between classes.” He said, voice rough as his hand dipped under Bilbo’s pants elastic and explored the velvety skin beneath. “He got me off in the dark - one hand in my trousers and the other covering my mouth so nobody would hear us.” 

“Could you… uhh?” Bilbo shook the wrist that was still pinned to the bed. 

Thorin nodded, releasing it in a heartbeat. “Of course, you… you let me know if it’s too much, alright?”

Bilbo snorted. “Oh honey, we need to have a conversation later. You have no _idea_ the sort of things I’m on-board for.”

“Right. Yes.” His brain short-circuited for a moment, eyes glazing over.

The Hobbit smirked. “Just because I’m from the country doesn’t mean my proclivities are vanilla, sweetheart.”

“Right. Yes.” Thorin repeated, mind racing through all the ‘proclivities’ Bilbo hinted at. 

Bilbo took pity on him and kissed Thorin deeply, snapping him out of it. “You were about to...?” He prompted gently, trying not to smile as be tilted his head to the politician’s free hand.

Thorin shifted and covered the Hobbit’s mouth, pressing down gently, back with the program. “It... it was messy and fast, that time in the cupboard. I don’t think I’ve ever come so quickly in my life.” He pulled his right hand out of Bilbo’s pants and tugged them down to his thighs, releasing a low grunt like he’d been punched in the gut when he took in the expanse of skin laid bare. _“Fuck.”_

Bilbo’s dick twitched. God it was hot when Thorin swore. 

The Hobbit nodded shakily, urging him to start. _“Please.”_ He begged, the sound muffled under Thorin’s sweaty palm.

“Whatever you want, Bilbo. I’ve got you.” He took Bilbo’s hardening cock in hand and started stroking, slow and tight. 

“Oh ‘m gooooood.” He groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Shh, remember, we have to be quiet.” Thorin leaned forward and whispered deliciously in his ear, the hand on Bilbo’s mouth squeezing as the other hand picked up speed.

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he nodded again, a bead of precum leaking from the tip of his dick. He was so turned on he thought he might drown in the sensation.

“You’re doing so good.” He purred, shoulder pumping as he jerked Bilbo even faster. 

The pace was relentless, Thorin only pausing once so he could lick his palm, Bilbo panting loudly from his nose as he watched. When his hand encircled the Hobbit once more and started moving the room filled with filthy, wet sounds, and he bit back a moan.

“Mfffph!” Bilbo writhed, feet digging into the bed. His noises became increasingly urgent, pitch getting higher and higher.

“Are you close?” Thorin kissed his neck sloppily, humming happily when Bilbo groaned and let out a strangled ‘mmhmm!’.

The politician leant back and applied a little more pressure to Bilbo’s mouth, other hand speeding up. “Come on, Bilbo. I want to see you come.” 

Bilbo’s face scrunched up, bright red, his breathing ragged. He yelled a muffled “fuck!” against Thorin’s hand and came hard, stripes of white coating the politician’s hand and both of their chests, his body shaking and convulsing, pushing against Thorin’s hold. 

He convulsed with aftershocks and Thorin stroked him through it, only letting his dick go when Bilbo hissed with oversensitivity and shook his head.

Thorin removed his hand from Bilbo’s mouth and shifted to one side, planting kisses on the Hobbit’s chest, patiently waiting for Bilbo’s soul to return to his body. He was rock-hard against Bilbo’s side but it didn’t feel urgent, his arousal a pleasant thrum under his skin, the Hobbit's pleasure at the forefront of his mind.

They lay still for a few minutes, Bilbo’s breaths gradually becoming even. “Wow.” He rolled to his side, facing Thorin, expression blissed out.

Thorin chuckled. “Wow indeed.”

“So, uh, jot that down as something new I learned about myself today.” He reached out for Thorin and touched a wet patch. “Bleugh! _Yuck.”_

He snorted. “Very mature.”

“Hey, no teasing. My brain is at two percent capacity, I’ll say what I like.” He sighed happily, stretching his arms above his head. “Give me a minute and I’ll repay the favour.” 

“There’s no rush, take your time.” Thorin wriggled closer and plastered himself against Bilbo’s side, ignoring his petulant whinging about ‘wet patches!’ and ’it’s sticky, Thorin!’. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s middle, kissing his ear. “I don’t care.”

Bilbo grumbled, placated by the affection. “It’s still disgusting.” He turned and kissed Thorin slowly, life returning to his body. He broke the kiss and looked into the politician's eyes thoughtfully, a question at the tip of his tongue. “I need to ask - have you had a checkup recently? Are you STI free?” 

“We probably should have talked about this earlier but yes, I’ve been given the all-clear. And I haven’t been with anyone in months.”

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. “Me too, on both accounts.” He shot Thorin a filthy smirk. “And that’s great news, since we don’t have any condoms handy and I want to suck you off.”

He gulped loudly. “Are- you- uh. Did you need more time?”

“Oh no. I am good and ready to go, sweetheart.” He pushed Thorin onto his back and pulled the politician’s pants down in one swift movement, throwing them to the side. Bilbo purred. “Oh yes, now that is one _lovely_ dick.” The Hobbit settled in between his legs, making a wounded noise as he stroked Thorin for the first time. “Christ, you’re _huge.”_

Thorin propped himself up on his elbows, sweating, already worked up. “This won’t take long at all, fair warning.”

He chuckled dangerously, grip going slack. “I can slow this down if you like, really draw it out?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Some other time maybe, right now I just want to come.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

And that was all the warning Thorin got as Bilbo lowered his head and swallowed him down in one, to the hilt, all the way to the back of his throat.

“Holy shit!” He yelped, chest heaving, as Bilbo pinned him down by the hips and started to work himself up and down Thorin's cock in earnest, spit drooling down the sides of his mouth.

Bilbo groaned, breathing loudly out of his nose as he took Thorin to the base again and again, gag reflex non-existent. 

Thorin was a babbling, incoherent mess. “Oh my GOD how did you learn how to- Fuck! Bilbo! OhmygodyourMOUTH.” 

He smiled against Thorin’s skin and pulled back slightly, using his hand to jerk the base as he sucked and lapped at the tip of the politician’s beautiful dick.

And Thorin was right, it wasn’t going to take long - five minutes in he was frantically tapping Bilbo’s shoulder, words lost to him as the Hobbit deep-throated him once more.

“Mmhmm!” Bilbo hummed his ascent, not letting up.

“Fuck!" Thorin arched his back, body taught like the strings of a bow. "Bilbo, I’m-” He muffled his broken moan in a pillow, coming fast and hard down the back of Bilbo’s throat.

He swallowed down, taking every last drop, radiating satisfaction as he heard the shattered sounds coming from Thorin.

“Bilbo... come here...” He asked weakly, pawing at Bilbo’s shoulders, overstimulated and exhausted.

The Hobbit released him with an obscene _pop!_ and wiped the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, beaming. Thorin’s dick did a valiant twinge of interest, but it was done for at least the next twelve hours. He was 42, not 20, his refractory period nothing like it used to be.

“Well, that was lots of fun.” Bilbo purred, sliding up Thorin’s body to kiss him.

Thorin melted into the kiss, making small satisfied noises at the back of his throat. “That was.... wow.”

He snickered. “Yes, I could tell you enjoyed yourself.”

“How.... no gag reflex.... you’ve ruined me?” Thorin strung together, not quite coherent. 

“A good magician never reveals their secrets.” He pecked Thorin on the lips, stroking his cheek.

Thorin sighed happily. ”Okay.”

He watched the politician closely, enjoying how rumpled and _destroyed_ Thorin looked. 

They lay together for a short while in silence, eyes closed, pressed together naked and filthy, Bilbo stretched out on top of Thorin’s chest like a cat. 

Half an hour passed and Thorin popped one eye open, met by the view of Bilbo watching him curiously. “What?”

Bilbo covered his mouth with one hand, stifling a laugh. “Well, it’s nothing to worry about, you’re fine. But. Uhh. You may want to make yourself a touch more presentable when you leave the room, otherwise we won’t hear the end of it from everyone.”

He frowned, reaching up to feel his messy head of hair. “I always look like this when I wake up, they’re used to it.” He looked down at Bilbo’s lips and smirked. “Though you might want to avoid them this morning yourself, your mouth and chin are looking… delicate.”

Bilbo groaned and touched the red skin around his mouth gingerly. “Beard rash. Fantastic." 

“Sorry, I forgot to shave yesterday.” Thorin offered as genuinely as he could, then looked down at Bilbo’s neck and cleared his throat. “You might want to find a scarf, too.”

 _“You’re joking.”_ Bilbo prodded his neck carefully, wincing when he located the bright purple love bite on his collarbone. “Christ, it’s like I’m fifteen again."

Thorin picked up his hoodie from the side of the makeshift bed and offered it over. “Here, cover it up with this.”

“Yes, because wearing your clothes won’t look suspicious _at all.”_

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to hide it or not? That cardigan of yours won’t do anything.”

Bilbo sighed defeatedly, took the offered hoodie and slid it on. He held up his arms, the hoodie’s sleeves at least ten inches longer than his fingertips. “I’m drowning in it, Thorin. I look absolutely ridiculous.”

“I think you look rather cute, actually.” Thorin mumbled, smiling.

“Oh. Right.” He blushed. “Well, we better get dressed then…” 

Bofur burst into the room, eyes covered by a makeshift tea-towel blindfold. “Alright lads, I can’t see nothin’. Breakfast is ready, your morning tumble can wait.”

Thorin swore loudly, grabbing a pillow to hide his dick. “Oh _for fuck’s sake!”_

\---

Bofur sipped at his orange juice, watching Bilbo and Thorin over the top of his glass with keen eyes. The two men were staring down at their plates, avoiding looking up at the rest of the company, who were all sharing amused looks and raising their eyebrows at each other. 

He cleared his throat. “So, lads. Sleep well in the pantry, did you?”

Bilbo pulled up the collar of his oversized (and quite familiar) hoodie, frowning. “Yes, but you could have come sooner. You’re lucky nothing bad happened.”

“Aye lad, we had a few important matters to sort out before we could come rescue you.”

“Yes, finishing your dinner. How bloody important.” Bilbo mumbled grumpily as he reached forward to pick up the jam, but was stopped half way as Thorin reached forward and handed it over to him instead. He looked up at the politician and offered a small smile, blushing. “Ah, thanks.”

“No problem.” Thorin muttered as he looked back down at his plate and popped a segment of grilled tomato in his mouth.

The entire table watched them with poorly hidden interest, eyes moving between the awkward couple. Bilbo was sitting far too stiffly and straight, swimming in Thorin’s hoodie; and Thorin was hunched over his plate, looking more unkempt than usual, moodily pushing the uneaten remains of breakfast around with his fork. The entire display was disastrously obvious, their audience knew something had gone down between the two whilst locked in the small room, and they were gagging to find out.

Balin cleared his throat pointedly. “You alright there, laddie? Seem to be sitting a little stiff, is all.”

“Don’t.” Thorin warned, giving him a dangerous look. “He’s _fine.”_

“Thank you, Thorin, but I can answer for myself.” Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the politician. “And thank you for asking, Balin. My back is just a little sore, sleeping on the floor last night did it no good I’m afraid.”

The campaign manager nodded politely and sipped his tea. “It’s a shame we’re not in London, I could have recommended a great masseuse I know he does a _great_ deep tissue massage. Really gets into all your _nooks and crannies_.” Balin added, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Bilbo choked on the tea he was drinking and noticed from the corner of his eye how Thorin’s hands were balling into fists under the table. “Uh, thank you for the thought, I’ll ask for his details when I’m next in London.”

“Of course, laddie. You’re very welcome.” 

The table fell back into near-silence, the only noise in the room Fili and Kili whispering animatedly to each other behind their hands at the far end of the table. Their uncle turned his head and shot them an icy look, silencing them instantly. 

Late to the party, Dwalin entered the room loudly, dragging his feet behind himself as he walked over and sat heavily in the spare chair next to his brother. He groaned, leaning forward at the table, and put his head in his hands.

Balin chuckled. “Why, good morning sunshine. After some bread and water to settle that poor stomach of yours?”

He shot a vengeful look at Balin, who smiled sweetly in return. “Don’t think I don’t know _exactly_ what you did last night.”

The older brother looked at him innocently. “Why, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Dwalin sat up straight and looked around the table, levelling everyone except Thorin and Bilbo with a withering look. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves, it’s not our place to meddle with the private affairs of others."

Bilbo raised a hand, making Dwalin turn his head and look over at him. “Uh, I’m awfully sorry to interrupt, but what on earth are you talking about?”

“My _friends-”_ Dwalin spat, directing another poisonous look around the table “-and I owe you both an apology. We should have come and rescued you as soon as you called, not leave you stuck in there all night.”

“Oh. I see.” Bilbo responded quietly, pursing his lips.

“Please know that it will never happen again. It was reckless and potentially dangerous.”

“It’s fine, really. No harm done.” Bilbo replied even softer, his voice barely heard across the table.

Dwalin stood up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You lot have acted like gossiping teenagers all morning, don’t think I haven’t seen it. Give them some space and respect.”

“Dwalin, thank you, but that’s quite enough.” Thorin instructed calmly, his voice level with a threatening edge to it.

“Surely you’re not going to let this slide?”

“I am, and I will. Let it alone.” He replied cooly through gritted teeth.

“But Thorin, you and Bilbo could have-”

“-I said enough!” Thorin hissed dangerously as he rose up and pointed at Dwalin. “We are all going to stop talking about this and continue on with our day as per usual. Do you understand?” He glared around the table, removing the smirks from many of their faces. _“Well? Do you?”_

The group mumbled their assent, looking down guiltily. 

Thorin sat and tilted his head to murmur in Bilbo’s ear. “I’m so sorry about their behaviour. They seem to have lost all tact this morning.” 

Bilbo shrugged, unperturbed. “It’s fine. If anything, its entertaining.”

The politician rested a hand on Bilbo’s knee and squeezed. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to start avoiding this place just because they can’t behave themselves.” 

He snorted. “It would take a lot more than some busybody campaign team to keep me away, not to worry.” Bilbo’s phone vibrated in his pocket, he pulled it out and checked who was calling. “Oh I should take this, it’s Bell. Excuse me.”

Bilbo stood up and hurried out the kitchen door, stopping when he was halfway along the garden and out of earshot.

“Hi Bell, sorry about that. Had to escape some pesky eavesdroppers.”

She tittered over the phone, the familiar sound making him smile. “Oh pet, I know all too well how nosy that lot can be. Balin especially, he may seem all old and lovely, but he’s as sharp as a tack.”

He groaned, leaning back on the stone fence as he rubbed his face tiredly. “I _know.”_

“Sounds like you have a story for me! Come on, you know I love a good gossip.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “So last night, well, _and_ this morning, things may have… developed between Thorin and I.”

Bell wolf whistled over the phone, making Bilbo grin and shake his head fondly. “You cheeky minx, tell me _everything.”_

“Well, there was some pretty stellar kissing, a dash of grinding, and we did this thing… I can’t tell you on the phone, it’s too good. You’ll just have to wait until I see you next.” He snickered. “Oh, and Bofur barged in on us before we could get dressed."

“You tease, I want the full story.” She tutted. “I love this for you. It's like you’re a teenager again, getting caught behind the bike shed kissing boys.”

“Oh my God don’t start, I have bloody beard rash and a _love_ _bite.”_

“You are so classy, good Lord!” Bell giggled, the noise so cute that he couldn’t stay mad at her. “Just wait till I tell my Hamfast, he’ll be in stitches.”

Bilbo groaned. “It’s so embarrassing, do you have to tell him _everything?”_

“He’s my husband, flower. Of course I do.” She gasped. “That reminds me! Silly me, forgetting why I actually called in the first place. It’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow and we want to do something special, any chance at all you could babysit Sam for the night? I know it’s late notice, but we only realised today that we don’t have anyone staying at the B&B for the weekend, so we can actually go away and do something nice.”

He grinned. “Of course, did you want me to come over or is Sam alright with staying at mine?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Well he’s been to your place quite a few times, I think that should be fine. He’ll probably enjoy it, actually. Running around and exploring all your rooms.”

“I’ll make sure I hide all my sex toys and buckets of lube.”

“I’d laugh, but I know you probably do have some hiding around the place, flower.” 

He cleared his throat. “I’m not going to answer that.” 

“You just did, Pet.” She laughed. “Anyway, we’ll drop him over at six tomorrow and pick him up Sunday morning, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, it'll be a piece of cake.”

“Sure.” She chuckled. “His favourite film is Ratatouille, and I’ll make sure he has his bear Susan with him, that should keep him happy.”

“I’ve babysat him before, I’ll be fine.”

“Yes but it’s your first time babysitting overnight, pet. Don’t hesitate to call us if anything happens, I’ll have my phone on me at all times.”

“Like I said, it’ll be easy.”

“Sure.” She replied, completely unconvinced. 

He stood up from the fence, groaning as he did so. “It will. Now, I need to get going and finish the baking I started last night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow love, have a good day at the teahouse.”

“Bye!”

He rung off, and slid the phone back in his pocket.

“No worries, it’ll be like a walk in the park.”

\---

Hindsight is a bitch.

Bilbo sunk down on the sofa, a weeping Sam in his arms, completely exhausted and at the end of his rope. 

“Christ, I am not cut out for this.” He mumbled to himself as he leant back and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as Sam cried into his shoulder. 

Sam had been inconsolable all night - refusing to go to bed, be alone, or stop crying. It was now past midnight and Bilbo had completely run out of ideas. The poor boy missed his parents, was beyond tired, and nothing would calm him down.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, wondering who he could call for help at this hour. Bilbo groaned, realising exactly who he should be calling. 

“Damn it.” He selected Thorin’s name in his phone and sighed resolutely, holding it up to his ear. Asking him for babysitting help was the last thing he wanted to do after their lovely morning together, the day previous. He wanted to keep the mood between them fresh and sexy, not jump ahead to child-rearing together.

But it was calling Thorin or another few hours of tears until Sam wore himself out. It was an obvious choice.

Thorin picked up after the second ring. “Bilbo it’s late, is everything alright?” He asked, voice thick with worry. 

“Yes. Well. Sort of.”

“Is… can I hear a child crying?”

Bilbo looked down at Sam, who was now curled in a ball at his side crying softly, his face nuzzled under Bilbo’s right arm. “Perhaps?”

“Please explain.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m babysitting Sam Gamgee, and it’s his first night away from his parents… It’s not going so well. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing.” Thorin chuckled warmly and Bilbo’s shoulders relaxed, the sound comforting him in an instant. “Look. I know it’s past midnight, but could I maybe have some advice? I’ve tried everything: telly, bribery, singing to him, the lot. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Perhaps it’s your singing that’s got him in such a state.”

Bilbo sighed. “Not the time to be joking about, Thorin. I’m knackered.”

“Sorry. I can come over if you like? I just finished what I was doing, I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Are you sure? I know it’s late...” He looked down at himself and winced, noticing the drool and snot all over his cardigan and a large reddish stain on his beige trousers from the spaghetti at dinner. “I look a proper mess.”

“It’s no trouble, Bilbo. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” Thorin's smile could be heard in his voice. "And don’t worry, I’m not in my Sunday best either. I’m sure you look great.”

“I don’t, but thanks.” He closed his eyes and slumped down on the sofa. “You’re a lifesaver, truly.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, I might not be of any real help at all.” Shuffling noises started in the background of the call, sounding a lot like blankets being lifted.

Bilbo groaned. “Oh God, please don’t tell me I woke you up.”

“I was just reading in bed, you didn’t wake me.”

“Really, Thorin? You best not be lying.”

"Yes, really.” He laughed softly, the deep sound making Bilbo’s stomach do a flip. "See you in a few minutes.”

“See you.” Bilbo paused. “And thanks again, Thorin.”

“Anytime.” 

Bilbo rung off and put the phone down beside him. “What a sweetheart."

He reached over and ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Do you remember Mister Thorin?” The Hobbit asked softly, trying to coax him out from under his arm.

Sam peered from his hiding place, face red and puffy, and nodded. “He stayed with us.”

“Yes he did. He’s coming to visit us now, isn’t that nice?”

He climbed up on Bilbo’s lap, rubbing his eyes. “Do y-you think he’ll tell me a story? He did it before, he’s really good at doing the voices.” Sam asked hopefully, gazing up at him with his big brown eyes.

“If you ask nicely, I think he might.” He wrapped an arm around Sam’s back, pulling him in close, and rested his chin on the top of the boy’s head. “Do you remember what story he told you?”

The boy sniffed wetly, tears still trickling down his cheeks. “There was a d-dragon, and he was really, really mean.”

“I used to love stories about dragons when I was little, I even snuck out of the house as a boy to go look for one.”

Sam giggled. “That’s stupid.”

“Perhaps, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He carded his fingers through Sam’s ginger curls, teasing out any knots absentmindedly. "I ran all the way down the hill, mum sprinting behind me - then I tripped over my own feet so she had to carry me home.”

He stood up in Bilbo’s lap, hands on his shoulders. “Where’s your mum now?”

Bilbo flinched. “Well, er, she’s no longer with us.”

“Has she gone on holiday?”

“No love, she’s passed on… she’s in heaven.”

His bottom lip started wobbling, tears pooling in his eyes. “I-is that where my mum is now? Is that why she’s not here?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “No Sam! She’s just in Bree having a nice night with your Da.”

“Da’s dead too?” He burst into tears, collapsing melodramatically in Bilbo’s lap.

 _'Well fucking done, Bilbo'_ he thought to himself angrily as he wiped away Sam’s tears with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“It’s their wedding anniversary, they’re just having a nice dinner and staying at a hotel.”

“Bu-But why wouldn’t they take me?”

“Because they want to do… uhh... _adult things_ together.”

“No! They need to come and pick me up!” Sam wailed, tears streaming down his face. "Where are they? I m-m-miss them!”

“Oh Sam, you poor thing.” He cooed as he stood up and held Sam to his chest with one arm and supported the boy on his hip.

“Maaaa!” Sam wailed, theatrics back in full swing.

“Come on, let’s do a lap of the dining room till Thorin gets here, hey? He’ll know what to do.” Bilbo bounced him on his hip, trying his best to calm the poor boy down, who was now red faced and drowning the babysitter’s shoulder in a lovely mixture of tears and snot.

He walked them into the long room and started humming in Sam’s ear, choosing the first mildly age-appropirate song that came to mind. 

“Tastes like strawberries, on a summer evenin’. And it sounds just like a song…"

A knock at the kitchen door came from behind, signalling Thorin’s arrival. “Come in, it’s open. We’re in the dining room.” He continued his lap around the table, singing louder and patting Sam’s back in rhythm, which seemed to be calming him down somewhat.

“…watermelon sugar, high!” Bilbo threw Sam in the air at the ‘high’, making the boy squeal happily. “Watermelon sugar, high!” He threw Sam again and froze when he heard Thorin laugh behind him. 

“Harry Styles? Really?” Footsteps closed in and two strong arms encircled Bilbo’s waist. “Isn’t that a bit mature for Sam? You know what the lyrics really mean, right?” Thorin kissed him on the cheek and the Hobbit blushed bright red.

Hearing his name, Sam popped his head over Bilbo’s shoulder and grinned. “Mister Thorin!"

Thorin ruffled his hair. “And what are you doing up so late, hmm?”

“I’m sad.” Sam sniffed wetly and his bottom lip started to wobble again. “I-I want my Ma.”

“Oh love.” Bilbo sighed, rubbing Sam’s back. “I know, it’s hard."

“Are you sure you’re not tired, Sam? Because you look like you’re ready to go to bed.” He rested his chin on Bilbo’s head. 

Sam shook his head, grumpily scrunching up his face. “I’m not tired.”

Thorin yawned and stretched, which triggered Bilbo and Sam to both yawn in unison. He smirked. “Oh really now, Samwise Gamgee? You sound pretty tired to me.” 

The boy grumbled under his breath like a little old man, making Bilbo stifle a laugh behind his free hand. “How about we go read in your room, hey Sam? You don’t have to fall asleep, we’ll just get comfy. Sound good?” Bilbo offered, bouncing him on his hip to keep the boy from slipping down.

He bit his lip and looked up at Thorin, who was smiling down at him. “Only if Mister Thorin carries me!” Sam leaned forward, small chubby hands reaching up to the tall politician.

“Well come on then, you cheeky monkey.” Thorin pulled Sam out of Bilbo’s grasp and set him on his broad shoulders, hands holding onto his little legs to make sure he didn’t slide off.

Sam made a delighted squealing noise, overjoyed at being so high up, and laced his fingers together under Thorin’s chin, holding on tight. Bilbo turned around and looked at the two fondly, Thorin missing the soft look being directed his way as he started slowly walking forward, over-exaggerating each step and making Sam bounce up and down, the small boy giggling loudly after every stride.

“Careful, you two! Some of these ceilings are awfully low.” Bilbo called out, shuffling after them.

“Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing. Isn’t that right Sam?”

“Yeah!” He cheered as he bounced up and down on Thorin’s shoulders excitedly. “See look, I can reach!”

Thorin laughed as they made their way up the stairs, joined by the sound of Sam’s tiny hands slapping the roof. “Careful, now. You don’t want to hit your head.”

Sam halted his squirming and put his hands back under Thorin’s chin obediently. “Yes, Mister Thorin.”

“Of course you listen to what _he_ says, not me. I just made you dinner and looked after you for the past six hours, that’s all.” Bilbo grumbled under his breath, bringing up the rear.

The politician reached the top of the stairs, patiently waiting for Bilbo to catch up. “Which room is Sam’s tonight?”

Bilbo sidestepped them and opened the door to the right of his bedroom. “Just in here, I’ve put him next door so I can hear him from mine.”

“Good idea.” Thorin entered the guest bedroom and sat on the edge of the large king bed, which was covered in various sized pillows in shades of terracotta and olive green. He gently lifted Sam up and off his shoulders and placed him in his lap.

Sam pulled Thorin’s arms around himself and grinned up at him. “Story time!”

He laughed softly and looked over at Bilbo, who had seated himself on the olive green velvet armchair in the corner of the large bedroom. “Did you have any preferences?”

Bilbo yawned and tucked his feet under himself, leaning heavily on the armrest. “I’m not fussed, you two sort it out amongst yourselves.”

“How about you go and choose one Sam? I think I saw a pile of books near the door that looked good.”

“I’ll find something we all like Mister Thorin.” Sam nodded and jumped out of Thorin’s arms. He sat down cross-legged at the door and started going through the large pile of children’s books Bilbo had piled there earlier, talking to himself animatedly.

Thorin stood up, stretched, and walked over to Bilbo, who looked like he was having a hard time staying awake. “How are you going? You look wrecked.” Thorin asked quietly as he perched on one of the armrests and started massaging the back of Bilbo's neck.

Bilbo sighed and leant back, eyes closing. “I am not as capable of dealing with crying children as I thought. It’s heartbreaking, I’m too soft for it.”

The politician’s hands slid down and started working on Bilbo’s shoulders. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, you get better at it with time. I was useless when Fili was born, I had no idea what I was doing.” He dug his fingers in deeper and Bilbo hissed. "You just have to distract them when they’re sad or angry, keep them entertained, and make them happy. It’s quite simple.”

He harrumphed. “I highly doubt it’s _that_ simple… you’re so good with kids, you make it look easy.”

“It comes from years of practice, trust me. I’ve been where you are right now, feeling helpless. It’s awful.”

Bilbo rubbed his face tiredly. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t have come over. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s fine, really. The book I was reading was far less entertaining than watching you attempt to calm Sam with your singing.”

He reached back and swatted at Thorin’s chest, making him chuckle. “I have the voice of a bloody _angel_ , thank you very much.”

“I never said you didn’t, just… _Harry Styles_? Really?”

“Shut up, I like him. He seems like a good boy.”

“Boy? He’s a grown man, Bilbo.” Thorin snorted.

“I’m over ten years his senior, as far as I’m concerned he’s a child-"

Sam hooted triumphantly, causing them both to jump and look over at him. He grinned and plodded over, ‘The Rainbow Fish’ in his tiny hands. “I like this one, the pictures are pretty.”

Thorin removed his hands from Bilbo’s shoulders and walked over to the bed, sitting down. “Come on Sam, let’s get you tucked in and I’ll read it for you.”

He giggled excitedly and ran forward, jumping on Thorin’s lap. “You have to get in too! It’s such a huuuuge bed!” Sam insisted excitedly, spreading his arms wide to express his point.

Bilbo smirked. “Come on Thorin. Don’t be a spoilsport, get in.”

The politician smirked and looked down at Sam. “Do you think we should invite Mister Bilbo too? He looks awfully alone over there?”

Sam bounced up and down. “Yes! Yes! Let’s all get in bed, it’s a sleepover!”

“Fine, let me get in my pyjamas, you two start without me.” Bilbo stood up, groaning loudly.

“Yes Mister Bilbo!” Sam stood up on the bed and giggled as he plodded over and slid under the covers, feet kicking up at the duvet. “Come on Mister Thorin, you can sit next to me, hurry up!”

“Coming, bossy.” Thorin rolled his eyes and shot a smile in Bilbo’s direction. “Hurry back, you don’t want to miss any of the story.”

Bilbo nodded, laughing quietly to himself. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He watched Thorin fondly as he stood up and crawled into bed next to Sam, who shuffled over, handed him the book, and climbed up on the politician's lap.

Thorin opened the book to the first page, holding it out so Sam could read along and see the pictures. “A long way out in the deep blue sea, there lived a fish…”

He smiled as he walked out of the room and into his, looking around for his cleanest pyjamas. Bilbo found some navy striped pyjama bottoms and a faded grey t-shirt, slipped them on, and headed back into the guest bedroom.

Sam looked up from the book and grinned over at him. “Come and sit next to me! The scary Octopus just swam away and I don’t know what’s gonna happen!”

He padded over and slipped into the giant bed, enjoying the comfort of Thorin’s radiating heat. Bilbo leaned forward and puffed up a few pillows behind him, then sank back against them, sighing happily.

The politician looked down at him and smiled, squeezed his knee, and continued the story. “Suddenly, he felt the light touch of a fin. The little blue fish was back!”

Bilbo closed his eyes and let Thorin’s deep voice wash over him, laughing softy now and then when Sam interrupted the story and asked questions, all of which Thorin answered patiently and in full. The bed was awfully cosy, the warmth from Thorin lulling him into a deep sleep.

“Just going to nod off for a bit, wake me when you’re done.” Bilbo mumbled mostly to himself as he rolled over, his back pressed against Thorin’s thigh. He felt a rough hand stroke his cheek and slipped into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of swimming in summers past.

\---

“…and happy as a splash, he swam off to join his friends.”

Thorin closed the book and looked down to see a snoring Sam curled up against his chest, and Bilbo passed out to his right. He gently manoeuvred Sam off his lap and slowly slipped out of bed, cringing as he did so, trying with all his might not to wake the boy up. Luckily, all the years of looking after his nephews had paid off, Sam just mumbled and rolled over, his sleep remaining undisturbed.

“All right. One down, one to go.”

He walked over to the other side of the bed and looked down at Bilbo, who was curled into a ball on his side, pillow clutched to his chest. Bilbo looked utterly comfortable and at home, Thorin was at a loss.

“Bilbo? Do you want to go to your own bed?” Thorin whispered as he perched on the side of the bed, looking down at the Hobbit affectionately.

Sam rolled over in his sleep towards Bilbo and wriggled around until his foot squished against the babysitter’s face. Thorin stifled a laugh behind his hand, Sam looked absolutely ridiculous and was now lying sideways in the giant bed, arms outstretched like Superman.

Thorin stroked the Hobbit's cheek. “Wake up Bilbo, you'll get no sleep with Sam’s kicking about.” Bilbo snored in response, deep asleep.

He leaned forward, one knee perched on the bed, and slowly pulled Bilbo towards him. Once Bilbo was close enough, Thorin scooped him into his arms and stood up, one arm under his knees and the other wrapped around his back in a bridal carry. 

Bilbo stirred in his sleep, put his arms around Thorin’s neck and nuzzled closer. “…mmmmm. ’s warm.” He sleepily mumbled as he rubbed his nose against Thorin’s throat.

Thorin melted. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

He sighed breathily, still half asleep. “Hello."

Holding the exhausted babysitter close to his chest, he quietly exited the room and entered Bilbo’s bedroom, closing the door behind. He looked around the cosy room with interest, smiling as his eyes scanned the room. The space was so very ‘Bilbo’, down to the numerous piles of books and stack of cardigans tossed on the faded couch.

“Well, you certainly weren’t lying when you said you loved books.” He murmured as he carefully navigated around the room, doing his best not to trip and fully wake the Hobbit.

He sat on the side of Bilbo’s unmade bed and leant down, releasing the Hobbit from his hold. Not having any of it, Bilbo made an irritated noise at the back of his throat and kept his arms tightly wrapped around Thorin.

“Nnnnnnnno.” Bilbo slurred in Thorin’s ear, shaking his head in the nook of the politician’s neck.

“Come on, I have to go.” Thorin said gently, prying the sleepy Hobbit's arms from around his neck.

“Stayyyyyyy.” He whined, face scrunching up in distaste.

“I can’t, I have to get back to the cottage.”

“Bullshit.” Bilbo muttered as Thorin slipped out of his grasp and he fell back onto the pillows. “It’s right next door, it’s not like you live far away.”

Thorin patted Bilbo’s pyjama pockets and fished out his phone, plugged in the charger on his bedside table, and placed it beside the bed. “I’d love to stay, but I really do have to go.”

“Twat.” He replied grumpily, muffled into his pillow. “You should stay. You’re already here and it’s comfy and I want you to."

He laughed softly, his resolution crumbling. “I mean... you’re right. It _is_ just next door.”

Bilbo propped himself up on his elbows, suddenly awake. “Yes get with the program Thorin, I’m always bloody right.” He slumped back into bed. “Now lose the clothes and get in here, my feet are cold and I need you to warm me up.”

“With an invitation like that, how could I say no?”

“Did I stutter?” A hand snaked out of the blankets and whacked Thorin on the thigh. “Bitch I said _jeans off._ Get in.”

Thorin let out a bark of laughter then held a hand to his mouth, remembering Sam nearby. “All right, bossy. I’m coming.” Thorin unzipped his trousers and pulled them down, then whipped off his cable-knit jumper and shirt in one. The pile of clothes were unceremoniously thrown to the floor, for there were more important tasks afoot. Like spooning a particularly grumpy Hobbit.

Bilbo rolled to his side and made grabby hands. “Thorinnnnnnn.”

“I said I was coming, hush.” He slid into the other side of the bed and turned off the light. 

“Spoon me!”

“Christ you’re demanding when you’re sleepy.” Thorin muttered, doing as he was told, and pulled Bilbo to his chest.

He wiggled back and sighed happily. “Thank you again for tonight.” Bilbo said softly, lacing their fingers together.

Thorin nuzzled into the back of Bilbo’s head as the Hobbit dozed off.

“Theres no place I’d rather be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Explicit territory, folks!  
> Bilbo has that WAB, that Wet Ass Bussy.  
> He’s in his sexual prime and Thorin isn’t READY.
> 
> Also, Thorin reading The Rainbow Fish is partly influenced by Richard Armitage's appearance on Cbeebies.  
> It's pretty magical, YouTube search it. 2006 Richard was so pointy.
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.
> 
> Comments most welcome!  
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.


	9. Then Along Came the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a visitor at the Teahouse,  
> Thorin gets overprotective,  
> And Fili and Kili get up to no good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content / trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Brief non-graphic parent death mention  
> \- Drink spiking with non-lethal drugs

Whistling as he walked down the hill towards the Teahouse, Bilbo made his way to work, mood upbeat. The morning’s chill had broken, the sunshine warming his back and shoulders through the thin fabric of his eggshell blue cotton shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

Monday mornings, no matter the season, were always pretty miserable for Bilbo. Returning to work after his only day off, Sunday, was never easy - but on this particular Monday he was in high spirits. The day previous he had woken up to Thorin curled around him, and they had quietly talked through the early hours until Sam woke up, and Bilbo made them all breakfast. 

He smiled to himself, remembering how soft and patient Thorin had been with the boy. It had taken him completely off-guard, and was affecting him far more than he would have expected. All Sunday he found himself with a ridiculous grin on his face, and was checking his phone every ten minutes or so to see if Thorin had replied to his texts, their conversation remaining light and flirtatious the entire day. Thorin had even sent him a goodnight selfie, shirtless and tucked into bed, and if Bilbo had gotten off to that picture this morning in the shower… that was his business.

Bilbo rounded the corner and sighed happily, taking in the stunning view that was his teahouse in the bright morning sunshine. He unlocked the front door and headed straight for the copper barista machine, warming it up in preparation for a long day’s work.

A trill sounded, making Bilbo grin and retrieve his phone from his pocket. His stomach did an excited flip. It was from Thorin.

**Thorin Durin: Open yet? I think I’ll need a quadruple shot espresso today… Balin just put five two-inch thick reports on my desk to go over. Going to be a long one.**

**Bilbo Baggins: The machine is warming up now, it’ll be ready when you get here.  
** **Bilbo Baggins: Also, I just opened my bakery delivery, I have fresh apple tart if you’re interested?**

**Thorin Durin: Leaving now, definitely up for some tart.  
** **Thorin Durin: Oh, and some cake would be nice also.**

Bilbo rolled his eyes, grin widening.

**Bilbo Baggins: Christ, please work on your pickup lines on the way over. My eyes just rolled so far back into my head I saw stars.**

**Thorin Durin: It worked though, didn’t it?**

**Bilbo Baggins: I aged five years, that’s how hard I just sighed.**

**Thorin Durin: Liar  
** **Thorin Durin: See you in 5**

He chuckled softly, slid his phone back in his pocket, and went back to the task of opening the Teahouse for the day. Old Sandyman’s baked goods were now conveniently delivered to his doorstep each morning, so all he had to do for open was put them out in the glass display cabinets, warm the barista machine, and switch on the boiling water taps.

Bilbo walked from behind the counter and started wiping down the tables, back turned to the door. He heard the all-too-familiar sound of the door opening and bell ringing, but continued his cleaning; pretending he hadn’t noticed anyone come in, smirking as he heard his visitor clear his throat pointedly behind him.

“Come on Thorin, at least say hello before you demand your caffeine. Rude.”

“If your coffee is good enough to make the well-mannered Thorin Durin forget himself, then it must be good coffee indeed.” An unknown voice replied, rich and deep, echoing around the small teahouse.

Bilbo spun around, greeted by the ice cold, almost reptilian smile of his latest visitor. He stood over a head taller than him, his hazel eyes (almost golden, Bilbo noticed) observing him keenly. The stranger was dressed in a well-tailored dark grey suit with a silk burgundy shirt, arms behind his back as he stood stiffly at the door. He appeared to be a well-dressed, attractive man, but something about him was just… off. Perhaps it was the forced smile, which menacingly revealed all his teeth, chilling Bilbo to the bone.

After a few moments Bilbo realised that he was staring and spluttered. “Ah, the coffee is good enough for a village as small as this, I suppose.”

The stranger nodded politely and walked over, offering his hand. “Smaug Azugâl, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Right. Yes.” He dusted his hands on his apron and stepped forward, shaking his hand briskly, and tried not to notice how his hands were engulfed in the giant, slender palms of his visitor. “Bilbo Baggins, welcome to my teahouse.” Bilbo laughed nervously and took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

Smaug eyed him with interest and took another step forward. “You mentioned Mister Durin earlier, am I correct to assume that you two are…” He smirked, the smile not reaching his eyes. _“…friends?”_

_ “I beg your pardon _ , are you insinuating something?” Bilbo crossed his arms. “I hardly know how that’s any of your business."

He laughed, the mirthless sound unnerving the Hobbit to his core. “Never mind.” Smaug sauntered across the room and fluidly sat down on the sofa near the barista machine, lazily stretching out his long limbs like a giant cat. “So what is it exactly you _do_ , my new friend?”

The Hobbit scrunched his nose, irked by Smaug’s insincere friendliness. “I just run things around here really, nothing too exciting.”

Smaug tutted, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Nothing exciting? I don’t believe that for a second. Those loud neighbours of yours must be quite the handful, always poking their noses where they don’t belong.”

His back stiffened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, they’ve been perfectly fine.”

“Leaving you locked in a pantry all night? That doesn’t sound like good neighbourly behaviour at all.” Smaug’s eyes twinkled, noticing how Bilbo had visibly flinched. “Or perhaps the company made it more bearable?” He added, unnerving smile returning.

“Listen.” Bilbo clenched his jaw, willing himself to remain as polite as possible. “I don’t know why you’re here, or how you know that Thorin and I were locked in that bloody room, but if you’re not going to buy anything I must ask you to leave.”

“Earl grey with lemon, if you’ll be so kind.” Smaug drawled, a challenging glint in his eye.

Bilbo clenched his fists and went behind the counter, thankful to have some furniture between them. He pulled out a teapot and started fussing with tealeaves, forgetting for a moment that Smaug’s gaze was burning a hole into the back of his head.

“So…” Smaug began, the sound making Bilbo stiffen as he poured boiling water into the pot. “Have you been spending much time with our mutual friend, Mister Durin?”

Thankful his back was turned, Bilbo pursed his lips in distaste. “Enough time to know you two are not what I’d consider  _ friends.” _

"“Oh really, now?” Smaug made a considering noise. "I’m sure he explained the entire situation to you, warts and all?”

“He wouldn’t lie to me. Balin, either.”

He clapped his hands together, making Bilbo flinch and look at him. “Ah yes, Balin Fundinson. My favourite Campaign Manager.” His voice lowered. "Truly a scoundrel that one, a man after my own heart.”

“You’re wrong about him, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Smaug rolled his eyes. “Come now, Mister Baggins, you seem smarter than that. Don’t be so quick to trust that lot,  _ especially _ Balin.” He checked under his nails airily, tone bored. "They’ll use you for their own devices, and when they’ve got what they wanted they’ll leave you far, far behind.” Smaug’s gaze met Bilbo’s. "Empty and alone.”

“Sure, give me one good reason why I should believe everything you say, hmm?” Bilbo huffed. “Let me guess, you have the best intentions and just want to help.” He added sarcastically, removing the tealeaves from the pot.

“Ah, yes. My intentions. There is that to take into account.” Smaug leant forward on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I think we can both agree that they’re not telling you everything.”

“It’s none of my business, they’ll tell me when they’re ready.” He responded flatly, trying to ignore the nagging voice at the back of his head, which was agreeing with Smaug. “I trust them."

“And they’ve told you about Frerin, then?”

That piqued his interest. “I don’t think so? Was that his brother who died?”

Smaug leant back against the lounge again, stretching his lithe arms across the backrest. “Thorin's younger brother, yes.” He smirked, smug that Bilbo had taken the bait. "Poor man had a few skeletons in his closet, he didn’t have the best luck in making the right friends. Terrible business.”

“And I should care because…” He replied as nonchalantly as he could, trying to mask his interest.

“It isn’t as black and white as it may seem. Be wary of Thorin and his company.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “How about you don’t talk in riddles, hmm? No offence, but I really don’t know who the hell you are or why you’ve come to visit.” He cleared his throat and eyed him defiantly. “You’re a complete stranger, you don’t know me.”

Smaug raised an eyebrow. “Oh really, Mister Baggins?” He stood slowly and sauntered over to the counter, towering over the Hobbit. “Then I must remedy that and get to know you better.”

“You’re wasting your time, mate.” Bilbo replied confidently, but his body betrayed him and he took a step back.

He chuckled darkly. “We’ll see about that.” Smaug strode towards the door and turned around at the last moment, hand hovering over the handle. “I look forward to us getting to know each other over the next few weeks, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Goodbye, Mister Azugâl.” 

“I imagine we’ll be seeing each other again quite soon.” He added as he winked and strode out the front door.

Bilbo exhaled as he shook his hands, trying to rid himself of the irked feeling Smaug had left him with. “What the fuck was that?” He turned to put the pot of tea in the wash and froze as he heard the door open again. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but please just leave. I don’t want any trouble.”

Loud footsteps closed in, then Bilbo felt a familiar warmth at his back and sighed, instantly calmed by the deep, rich smell of Thorin. The taller man wrapped his arms around the Hobbit's shoulders, standing close behind him. “Did he hurt you? Are you alright?” He asked, voice thick with concern.

“He didn’t do anything, sweetheart. We just talked.” He leaned backwards into Thorin’s embrace, closing his eyes. “That man is truly chilling, there’s something  _ off _ about his voice that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Thorin turned Bilbo around in his hold, scanning him from head to toe for signs of injury. “Bilbo, you didn’t answer me. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m quite fine.” He smiled softly, tucking his hands into the rear pockets of Thorin’s dark trousers. “I’ve handled worse, Thorin. Calm down.”

“Are you sure he didn’t touch you?”

Bilbo took a small step back. “Why do you keep asking that, why would he touch me?” He asked, tilting his head and squinting. "He just asked me a few questions is all. Said some weird things about Balin and your brother.”

Thorin froze. “He asked about Frerin? Why?”

“No idea.” He shrugged. “I think he was just trying to get a reaction from me. He seems the type that enjoys playing with people.” Bilbo lowered his voice to a whisper. “Also, his men have been watching us. He knew about our little  _ sleepover _ in the pantry."

“Yes I know, Nori dealt with one of his men yesterday.”

“Excuse me? You were texting me all bloody day, how could you forgot to mention that!” Bilbo spluttered and he took another step back, breaking physical contact with Thorin. “And please explain what you mean by  _ dealt with _ .”

Thorin shrugged. “Dwalin knocked the man out and took his gear, nothing too extreme.”

_“Extreme?!”_ Bilbo exclaimed, eyes wide. “Thorin, you’re talking about _assault!_ Far too casually and comfortably, I might add.”

“He was trespassing and threw the first punch. It was completely legal.” He replied slowly, realising his overly casual tone might have been the wrong choice.

_“Bloody hell,_ Thorin.” He bent over and braced his hands on his knees, breaking into a cold sweat. “You really should have told me, shit, I live next door!”

Thorin took a step forward and reached out as if he was about to comfort Bilbo, but stopped when he saw the Hobbit flinch. His hand fell to his side. “You’re not in danger, I would have moved you somewhere safe if you were.”

Bilbo stared up at him, mouth agape. “What the fuck do you mean by _moved,_ Thorin? Bag End is my home.”

“Not if it isn’t safe.” Thorin replied matter-of-factly.

“And why might it not be safe? Hmm? Go on, please, do tell.” Something snapped in Bilbo and he stood up straight, rage replacing the fear in his veins, and shot Thorin a withering glare. “What’s really going on, Thorin? Why am I in danger? When will I ever get a straightforward answer from you, you bloody politician?"

“I never intended for things to…  _ develop _ between us, Bilbo. But it’s now my responsibility to keep you safe, I’ve put you in harms way.” Realising how that had just sounded, Thorin opened his mouth to correct himself. “Wait, I meant-"

“-I’m so fucking sorry we’ve _developed_ , Thorin.” He laughed mirthlessly, making Thorin wince at the harsh sound. “Also, how am I your responsibility now? Why do you think you can make decisions for me?” Bilbo waved his hands wildly as he ranted and started to pace in a circle, all worked up. "I’m my own fucking person, Thorin. I don’t belong to you. We fool around a bit and now I’m under your bloody _protection?_ How dare you! Who the hell do you think you are!”

He paled. “That came out wrong, I didn’t mean it like that.”

_“Please,_ do go on and divulge how I've been a mistake, and am now a damsel in distress in need of a knight in shining fucking armour.” Bilbo chastised, glaring daggers up at him. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m _pretty sure_ a few kisses and two nights together doesn’t mean that you can start making decisions for me. Don’t you dare try and control me.”

“I never said that I wanted to _control_ you, all I meant is-”

“-That you’d kick me out of my home if you thought I was in trouble, and remove any agency I might have in the matter.” He took a step forward and poked Thorin sharply in the chest. “I can look after myself! Christ, how many times must I stress that to you?”

He shook his head, expression serious. “Smaug and his people… they’re dangerous. Unpredictable. I should never have brought you into this.”

“Then why did you, huh? Why did you?!” Bilbo scolded, digging his index finger into Thorin's chest again, making him grimace. “What am I exactly? Am I your, I don’t know,  _ country shag _ while you’re away from your secret boyfriend in London-”

‘-Bilbo, stop. Please.” Thorin reached forward, gently holding Bilbo’s arm, and looked down at him beseechingly, gaze darting between the Hobbit's eyes. “I don’t regret what has happened between us, never think that for one moment. It’s just…” He sighed. “It’s complicated. I’ve brought you into this and can’t think of a way to get you out of it.”

“Then don’t.” Bilbo replied flatly, eyes narrowing. “Stop fucking apologising and start telling me what I’m in for. Help me prepare for the worst. Help me understand. Christ, here’s a thought - maybe even let me _help.”_

He let go of Bilbo’s arm and took a step back. “I can’t let you-”

“-Oh don’t start on that shit again Thorin, I really don’t have the patience for it.” He started shaking with suppressed anger and walked forward, crowding Thorin against the nearest wall. The politician looked absolutely terrified. “Can you stop playing martyr for one bloody second, grow a backbone, and tell me what I may or may not be getting myself into.”

“I… I don’t think we can continue…” He gestured between them. “… _ this _ if I know I'm putting you in harms way.”

Bilbo snorted, unfazed by Thorin’s harsh words. “That’s all well and good, and I see where you’re coming from -  _ thanks for your concern -  _ but shouldn’t I have a say in the matter? I can handle it! My god, when will you get it into that thick skull of yours-” his face turned red, a vein bulging in his neck, “-you have no idea what I have been through!”

“But it’s different now, Smaug is back and-“

“-I identified my mother and father when they died, because their bodies couldn’t be recognised from the car crash! Their bodies were that mangled!” Bilbo’s tone went white-hot with fury. "When I say I can take the truth, I really fucking can. Stop thinking me so breakable. It’s insulting.” He raised his chin defiantly. "You have no _idea_ who I am or what I’m capable of.”

Thorin froze, his face fell. “Bilbo…”

“Don’t  _ Bilbo _ me, Thorin. I don’t want or need your pity.” He spat. “What the hell do I have to do to convince you that I’m not made of glass? Because I will eventually give up and walk away, my patience  _ is _ limited. I have more self-respect than to hold onto someone who doesn’t truly want me around.”

“I’m only doing what I think is right.”

“No, what you’re doing is you’re running away as soon as things get difficult, and rationalising it to yourself as ‘protecting me’. I see right through your bullshit.” Bilbo scrubbed his face and muffled a small scream in his hands. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and levelled Thorin with an unimpressed scowl. “Look. I know we’ve only known each other for just over a fortnight, but… trust me, alright? Whatever this…” He gestured between them, mirroring Thorin’s move earlier. “…is, as I have said a thousand times, I can handle it. But only if you start being honest with me.”

“I need to think.”

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped. “Good. Much better than _‘I can’t do this’,_ I can work with that.” He walked over to the cake display, cut Thorin a slice of apple tart, put it in a paper bag, then handed it over to the silent man. “I’m pissed off, go away before I say something I regret. Eat some cake, have a think about it, and call me tomorrow.” Bilbo pointed at him accusingly. "But don’t play with me and lead me on, Thorin. I don’t deserve that. And you’re better than that.”

“I won’t, promise.”

“Fantastic.” He reached up on his tippy toes and kissed Thorin on the cheek, turned him around, and slapped his arse, shepherding him towards the door. “Now go and deliberate you gorgeous, _frustrating,_ brooding man.” 

\---

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Bilbo slid a bookmark into his novel, put it down on his bedside table, and turned off his lamp, yawning loudly. He picked up his phone and squinted at it, eyes not used to the startlingly bright screen in the dark room.

“Christ, it’s passed midnight. I lost track of the time, I should have been asleep hours ago.”

He put his phone back down and rolled onto his side, curling around the soft pillow that was under his head. Bilbo yanked up the covers under his chin and scrunched his eyes shut, trying his hardest to sleep, but there was far too much flying around in his head after what had happened today, the conversation between him and Thorin on repeat.

Rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m perfectly safe, nothing is going to happen. Yes. Thorin’s just being dramatic.”

Hurried, urgent knocking sounded downstairs, making Bilbo yelp loudly and clutch the blankets to his chest. He froze, heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears.

“There is absolutely  _ nothing _ that would make me leave this bed, no bloody way.” The knocking stopped, and Bilbo let out a relieved breath. 

A loud thud sounded at his window, eliciting a high pitched shriek from the startled man. “Was that a fucking  _ shoe!?” _

Another thud followed the first. “Bbbilbooo!! Psst! Geddown h-here!”

He tore out of bed, opened the window, and gasped. In the darkness he could make out a swaying Fili, holding up a half-awake Kili who looked like he was having issues using his legs.

“What the  _ hell _ do you two think you’re doing? You’ll wake the neighbours!” Bilbo hissed angrily, waving his hands in a shushing motion.

“Ffffuck th’ neighbours, K-kili is hurt.” Fili whispered loudly, then fell backwards as Kili’s legs gave way and his weight pulled them both down onto the grass.

“Christ. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Bilbo hurried back inside, pulled his dressing gown around himself, slipped his phone in his pocket and flew down the staircase to the front door. He yanked it open and tumbled backwards under the weight of the two brothers, cursing loudly under the heavy men.

“Sorry, B-Bilbooo.” Fili apologised as he tried to pull Kili off him, failed, and slid down the wall.

“What the hell! Have you two been drinking?” Bilbo asked angrily as he pulled himself up and closed the front door, very aware of waking up the cottages on either side of him. Especially the one filled with Londoners and a soon-to-be-furious uncle.

Fili nodded, paused, then shook his head. “It s-started with drinks, but thennn… it was not-drinkss?” He slurred, frowning up at Bilbo, as he pulled Kili up to sit next to him against the wall.

“What do you mean, _not-drinks?”_ Bilbo crouched and looked them over, noticing how blown out Kili’s pupils were. He reached forward and slapped his cheek softly, enough to startle but not hurt him, but Kili only smiled goofily and blinked slowly in response. The Hobbit groaned and turned to Fili. “Why the hell is your brother high as a kite?”

“Sssspiked.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Nice try, this is Hobbiton we're talking about.” He sniffed Kili, looking him over. “You don’t smell like a spliff, so what is it then?” No response. “Come on, I was young once, I’m not ancient. What did you take, I can’t help if you don’t talk.”

“I-It wasssn’t a local who did this, it wwwas Bolg. He c-caught us spyin’.”

“What the hell is a  _ Bolg _ ? That a name for some new drug you youths take?”

Fili shook his head, scrunching up his face, frustrated by his current state and slurred speech. “Bolg works for Sssssmaug.”

“That’s right, I remember his name now.” He froze. “Oh  _ fuck _ . That Bolg.”

“Yyyyeah. Dunno wha’ we took.”

“Alright. Shit.” He pulled the youngest brother up, supporting Kili under his arm. “We can deal with this. Come on, let’s get you both comfortable and upright.” Bilbo brought Kili into the lounge room, his brother swaying as he followed.

Fili collapsed into the couch and Bilbo carefully sat Kili next to him, ensuring they were both comfortable. He undid Kili’s collar and put an ear to his chest, listening to his breathing.

“It’s really quiet, Fili.”

The older brother nodded groggily and patted on his own chest. “Same. Feelin’ real relaxed, but K-Kili is worse. Can’t move his legs an’ he keeps spacin’ out.”

Bilbo squatted down and undid both of their shoes, then walked over to stoke the fire and warm up the cold room. “Why the hell were you two spying, you know it’s not safe around Smaug.”

“T-Trying to get some intel, see what he’s doin'.”

He turned around and put his hands on his hips. “And that went so damn well, didn’t it?”

Fili slumped down on the couch, chin resting on his chest. “It was Kili's i-idea.”

“For God’s sake. You can tell your brother no, you know!” He tutted as he walked forward and pulled Fili back up so he could breathe properly.

“Nahhhhhh he can't.” Kili mumbled as he leant over and rested his head on Fili’s shoulder. “I feel ffffloaty.”

“You two know I have to call your Uncle, don’t you?”

Both of their eyes widened in horror, and Kili made a distraught noise at the back of his throat. “Pleassse, no. H-he’ll kill us.”

Bilbo waved his hands erratically. “And he’ll kill me if I let you both die without calling him!"

Kili shook his head heavily. “B-Be over soon, had this b'fore.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” He demanded, hands on hips.

The youngest nodded. “Explain laterrr. Never ‘ad this mmmuch though.“ Kili sighed, closing his eyes. “Jus’ need time.”

“I won’t be party to this."

Fili reached up and held Bilbo's hand, tugging once. “Please, Bilbo. We don’t want t' worry uncle when he already has so much on his m-mind.”

“Oh Fili, I really can’t-“

“-Please?” He begged, squeezing Bilbo’s hand. “We won’t ask you for anythin' else again, I promisssse."

“Fine. But I don't like this, not one bit." He sighed, pinching his brow. "How long ago do you think your drinks were spiked?"

Fili scrunched his face in thought. “Time’s allllll… wobbly. No idea.”

“Fantastic.” He watched them carefully, taking in their state. They seemed relatively fine, just swaying a bit, with stupid grins on their faces. “Are you sure you’re both alright, you don’t feel like you can’t breathe, or anything?”

“N-Not as floaty as I was before, think I’m startin’ to come down.” Kili mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t mister.” He reached down and slapped Kili across the face again, snapping him out of it. “You two will sit up, keep your eyes open, and breathe. Goddamnit. And I will call your uncle if you seem like you’re about to pass out, you hear me?”

“Yessir.” They both mumbled, Kili pushing himself up from his brother’s shoulder so he sat up straight.

Bilbo sat down on the coffee table in front of them, wringing his hands. “You’re sure it isn’t laced with anything else?”

Kili sighed, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “Nnnope, it all feels f-fine.”

“I really should call your uncle.”

“T-Trust me, be over soon. See?” He wiggled his foot. “N-Nearly got ‘m legs back.”

“You two are in so much trouble, do you know that?”

“As long as T-Thorin doesn’t see me like this, ‘m okay.” Fili slurred as he pulled a cushion to his chest and wrapped his arms around it.

“I’m calling him tomorrow morning, as soon as you two have showered and had breakfast.” He paused. “Wait… does he even know where you are right now?”

Fili gulped. “Ohhhh shit, we are in sooooo much trouble.”

“We deeeeeead.” Kili groaned at the ceiling.

Bilbo’s phone rang in his pocket, making them all freeze. He didn’t even have to look down at it to know who was calling. 

Steeling himself, he accepted the call. “Hello Bilbo speaking.”

"I know you said to call tomorrow, but something's happened." Thorin's voice sounded strained and bordering on frantic, making Bilbo feel even more guilty than he already did. He should have called Thorin as soon as the boys knocked on his door, their poor uncle must have been pulling his hair out with worry all night.

Bilbo groaned and hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he pressed the phone against his face with one hand. "Yes, I know."

Thorin paused. "What do you mean _you_ _know?"_

"They're here, and mostly in one piece."

"Bilbo..." his tone turned icy, making Bilbo's stomach drop "…kindly define  _ mostly _ ?"

He winced, looking over at Fili and Kili, who were watching him with big, frightened eyes. "Any chance one of your thirteen mates is a doctor?"

Thorin swore. Colourfully. "What the hell have they gotten themselves into _now?"_ His voice increased in volume, fear quickly being replaced with fury.

"Now Thorin, there's no need to start shouting, they-"

"-Tell me what's going on _right now."_ The _thud!_ of a door being slammed sounded in the background of the call, quickly followed by muffled footsteps and the sleepy grumbles of someone as if they were being woken up. 

“I mean…. uhh… Well. It’s not that serious. But.” Bilbo took a fortifying breath. "Bolg caught them spying at the pub and slipped something into their drinks." He scrunched his eyes shut, awaiting Thorin's explosion.

"Say that again." Thorin whispered dangerously.

Bilbo gulped. "Fili and Kili were just trying to help, they had no idea Smaug had brought Bolg to watch out-"

"THEY WERE IN THE SAME ROOM AS SMAUG?!"

He flinched and looked at Fili and Kili apologetically, the two now sitting up straight and watching him in absolute terror. They had both heard Thorin yelling over the phone and knew they were in for it, their uncle was positively livid.

Bilbo cleared his throat, willing his voice to cooperate and not waver. "Yes?"

Thorin swore again, this time a long string of words in a guttural language Bilbo didn't recognise, but his tone communicated his sentiments crystal clear. They were fucked. "I'm coming over. Right now.”

"Yes, I supposed you would be. Just…” He stood up and walked to the hallway, out of earshot. “…be gentle with them, please? They’ve had a rough night.”

“I do not need tips on how to raise my own nephews, thank you,  _ Mister Baggins _ .” He replied tersely, near-spitting out Bilbo’s name.

He rolled his eyes, thoroughly over Thorin’s theatrics, not offended in the slightest. “Take it out on me, that’s fine, but your boys are currently coming down from a decent trip and the last thing they need right now is you barging in and yelling at them.”

“They’re  _ high?!” _

Bilbo slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, fuck.”

The footsteps heard from Thorin’s end of the call became louder, and Bilbo was sure he heard someone panting, as if they were running after the furious man. “I’m coming over now.”

“Splendid, shall I put the tea on?” He asked with mock-cheeriness.

“Do whatever you like, I’m coming for my nephews regardless.”

“So that’s a  _ no _ for the tea?” Bilbo asked again, even more sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

Thorin growled and hung up.

Bilbo blinked down at his phone for a moment, then popped his head back into the lounge. “I am so sorry boys, but he’s coming over right now and he’s  _ pissed.” _

The eldest clung tighter to the pillow in his arms and hid behind it. “Uncle is going to kill us, Kee.”

“Oh God he sounded soooo mad, I don’t think we’ve ever s-screwed up this bad.” Kili covered his face with his hands.

“Stop worrying, we can fix this. We have maybe four minutes ’til your uncle gets here.” Bilbo walked over to the two, straightening the lapels of his dressing gown. “You-” he pointed at Fili “-stop sulking and sit up, you’ll need to appear as confident and coherent as you can when he gets here. Now you-“ he turned, pointing at the younger brother now “-pull yourself together, we can do this.” 

Bilbo hurried into the kitchen to fetch two glasses of water, then ran back and handed one to each brother. “Splash your face a bit maybe? Have a drink?” He said, shifting anxiously from side to side. “I don’t know what to do when you’re too high, uhh, just smarten up a bit!”

Kili downed his glass, while Fili dipped his fingers in and splashed his face a few times before drinking. 

He looked worriedly between them, returned the glasses to the kitchen and came back into the fire-lit room. “Well? Better?” 

Fili shook himself and slapped his face a few times. “I think I feel a bit more awake.”

“Good. I think you should do most of the talking, but keep it short. The more you talk, the more he’ll notice how high you are.” He turned to look at Kili, who was blinking slowly at the opposite wall, eyes unfocused. “And Kili… perhaps leave the talking to Fili.”

The younger brother nodded groggily. “Good i-idea.”

Hurried knocks sounded at the rear kitchen door, and Bilbo give the boys a thumbs up. “Right. It’s go time.” He took a few steps towards the hallway and turned back towards them. “Just… act normal?”

The older brother scoffed. “He knows we’re f-fucked, Bilbo."

“Yes, but just… do your best.” The door-knocking upgraded to banging.

Fili rolled his eyes. “Yeeeees, now go get uncle before he explodes."

“Good idea.” Bilbo took in a deep breath and scampered to the door, his bare feet slapping loudly against the cold, tiled floor. “Yes, yes. Coming.”

He unlocked the door, turned the handle and was greeted by a fuming Thorin, still in the day's suit, behind him Dwalin and an old man Bilbo had never met before, both still in their sleepwear. The old, grey-haired man smiled warmly and waved a hand in greeting, but the other two squinted furiously at Bilbo, a vein starting to bulge in Thorin’s forehead. 

Bilbo swallowed audibly and put on a forced smile. “Evening, gents.”

Thorin surged forward, making Bilbo take a few quick steps backward to avoid being bowled over. Dwalin followed in the same brash manner, but Bilbo’s third guest entered the dark room with much more finesse and politely shook his hand.

“It’s Oin, lad. I’m physician for Thorin and his lot while we’re on the road.” He leant forward, lowering his voice. “We best follow those two post haste and do a little damage control, otherwise Thorin might get a little… carried away.”

“Great idea.” He agreed as they both turned and rushed after Thorin and Dwalin. “Thorin, just wait a moment-“ Bilbo burst into the room and covered his mouth with one hand, completely surprised by what he found.

Thorin had collapsed on his knees in front of his nephews and had wrapped his arms around them, pulling them into a tight embrace. He was talking to them softly, muffled in Kili's shoulder. 

Giving them a private moment, Dwalin had crossed his arms and was leaning against the doorway, watching quietly while the exchange took place.

“You stupid, stupid boys. What the hell were you thinking!” Thorin scolded, sharp edge to his voice gone. 

“We just w-wanted to help, we know you’re stressed with everything that’s going on.” Fill replied quietly, his words muffled in his uncle’s shoulder.

He pulled back from the hug and looked at them pleadingly in turn. “You’re both so young, don’t ever think that any of the burden falls to you two.”

Fill bowed his head, avoiding his uncle’s piercing blue eyes. “I know, b-but we heard Smaug was down at the pub and thought…”

“No, you didn’t think. That’s the problem.” Thorin stood and gestured to the Physician. “Oin?"

Oin bustled forward and sat on the coffee table before them, pulling a small torch out of his leather satchel. “Come on lads, you know the drill. Fili first.”

Thorin strode out of the room, grabbed Dwalin’s elbow and pulled him into the hallway, whispering furiously and gesturing towards his nephews every few seconds. 

Uncomfortable with being so close to the heated conversation, Bilbo walked behind Oin and crouched down to speak quietly in his ear. “Can I help at all?.”

He chuckled good-naturedly and shook his head. “You can hover if you'd like, to avoid Thorin, but I’m good here. Thank you, lad.” 

Bilbo winced, feeling exposed. “Brilliant, cheers.” He put his hands in his pockets and watched Oin examine the two brothers, sneaking a look towards Thorin and Dwalin, now and again. The furious whispers had started increasing in volume, making him start to worry. Whatever was being discussed was not good, not good at all.

A few more minutes passed and Oin sat back, putting the last of his medical instruments in his bag. “Thorin I’m done over here."

Thorin uncrossed his arms and walked back into the room, looking down at Oin expectingly. “Well?”

“It’s what I thought, one of the those drugs people often slip in drinks at clubs and the like. I can’t tell exactly what this is, it’s a new concoction, but I’ve seen similar before working the night shift back in London. The lads just need a little more time to ride the rest of it out, they’re nearly done.” He stood up, groaning while holding his back. “They’ll need lots of rest tonight and all tomorrow, water too. Kili will probably have stiff legs for a little while, but nothing to worry about.” Oin clapped Fili on the shoulder. “Consider yourselves lucky, boys. It could have been a lot worse.”

Bilbo let out a relieved sigh and held a hand to his chest. “Thank Christ! Nothing to worry about.”

_“Nothing to worry about?”_ Thorin turned slowly. _“Nothing to worry about!?_ They could have died!” He roared, gesturing behind himself to the couch where his nephews timidly sat, uncomfortably watching their uncle explode.

Oin frowned and swatted Thorin in the arm. “Keep it down Thorin, or you’ll burst my only working ear drum!” He reached behind his left ear to turn down a hearing aid that Bilbo hadn’t noticed previously, grumbling under his breath. 

Thorin deflated and sighed, rubbing his face. “My apologies, Oin.”

The old man tutted and slowly walked towards the hallway. “I’m off to bed and so should you all be. Sooner, rather than later.” He looked pointedly at Fili and Kili, then smiled brightly at Bilbo. “It was lovely to finally meet you. Goodnight.”

Everyone mumbled a reply except Thorin, who had now turned to look down at his nephews, arms crossed.

Bilbo stepped forward and put a tentative hand on Thorin’s elbow. “Since Bag End is quieter than your rowdy cottage, if you like, the boys can stay here tonight?"

Fili looked up at his uncle hopefully. "Please? I dont want anyone seeing me like this."

His brother hummed in agreement. "It's embarrassing." 

"You were _attacked,_ boys. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, it wasn't your fault." Bilbo said soothingly as he smiled at them softly. "But I do think some quiet will do you good."

Thorin paused for a moment, then nodded. “Fine.” He pointed a finger to his nephews in warning. “But if I hear you're annoying Bilbo you're coming straight home. He has my number."

"Yeah we know, you wouldn't stop blushing at your phone all yesterday." Fili murmured under his breath to his brother, earning himself an elbow in the ribs. 

Bilbo pursed his lips so as not to grin, and Thorin’s scowl deepened. "Like I said, you bother Bilbo and you're coming straight back to the cottage. Agreed?"

They both nodded, and a wide grin appeared slowly on Thorin's face. 

Fili gulped. _"What?"_

"All the pain you've put Bilbo through tonight, I think you should both do something to repay him, don't you?"

Bilbo shook his head, making his auburn curls fall about his face. "No. No, no no. That's quite unnecessary, no need for that."

Thorin's grin widened. "You two are going to help out at the Teahouse for two weeks, no pay, until you learn some responsibility. Hopefully some of Bilbo's  _ country manners _ rub off on you."

_"Two weeks?"_ Kili and Bilbo spluttered in unison, eyes wide. 

He nodded, ignoring how Fili had pulled the pillow back over his face. "Yes, two weeks." Thorin turned to Bilbo. "Fire that useless boy you've got, I’ve decided to go with Ori’s idea. Fili and Kili will help you for a fortnight while you look for a replacement. Everybody wins."

Kili spluttered once more. _"Everybody wins?!"_

"Is a side effect of whatever you've taken repetition, Kili? Because I must say, it's getting rather tedious." Thorin crossed his arms. "Two weeks. Waking at eight every morning. Serving tea. You'll have a great time."

A muffled groan was heard from behind the pillow over Fili's face. "This is going to be hell."

“Break a teapot of mine and I’ll show you hell."

Thorin leant down to stage-whisper in Bilbo's ear. "Any awful cleaning jobs you've been avoiding for a while, you can just get them to do."

Realising what a brilliant opportunity this could be, Bilbo mirrored Thorin's smirk and looked down at Kili and his brother, as Fili emerged from behind his pillow with an expression of pure horror. "I do have that awful gate in the front garden that hasn't been scrubbed in over a year, the spiders keep making a real mess of it, there's webs everywhere."

Fili squinted up at him distrustfully. "I though you were nice, b-but now I see you're just as evil as uncle. You two deserve each other."

Bilbo waved the comment away. "Well. I suppose it's time to get you both upstairs and in bed." He looked over their clothes, scrunching his nose in distaste at the thought of their dirty grass-stained trousers in his clean guest beds, and turned to look up at Thorin. "Any chance at all you can be a dear, whip next door and fetch a clean change of clothes for these two?"

Completely forgotten about up until that moment, Dwalin cleared his throat from where he was standing in the doorway, making Bilbo jump in surprise. "Aye, I'll fetch the lads some clean pyjamas, you two get them upstairs and settled." He smirked slyly at Thorin. _"Dear."_

Bilbo blushed bright red, while Thorin rolled his eyes and walked over to talk quietly in Dwalin's ear. They nodded at each other, Thorin gripped his shoulder companionably, and Dwalin left.

Thorin gestured for the Hobbit to come talk by the doorway, and Bilbo joined him. Once he was in ear shot, Thorin pulled him out into the hallway.

Bilbo looked up at him questioningly. "What?"

"Dwalin thinks it's a good idea if we stay here overnight as well, just to keep watch. He's telling Nori to keep an eye out at the cottage too."

Bilbo spluttered. "Keep  _ watch?!" _

Thorin held a finger up, silencing him. "Yes. Please keep your voice down, I don't want to worry Fili and Kili." He popped his head back into the lounge to make sure the brothers weren't eavesdropping, but the two were just talking quietly amongst themselves. "Dwalin seems to think that there could be a chance the boys were drugged so that they could be easily... retrieved later tonight."

He took a small step back, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. "Are we in danger Thorin?"

"I don't think so. Fili and Kili are nearly sober, they would have kidnapped them by now if they were going to." 

“Well isn’t that a bloody relief.” Bilbo took in a deep breath. _“They haven’t been kidnapped yet,_ he says. Is that supposed to comfort me?"

Thorin frowned. "No, it's the truth. I thought you wanted more honesty?"

"Well. Yes." Bilbo blinked. "I'm sorry, you're right."

The corners of his mouth tilted up, the beginnings of a smile. "Can I get that in writing perhaps? I feel like it's going to be a long time until you say that again."

Bilbo snorted. "Maybe later if I'm feeling generous." He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. "But are you ok, Thorin? Honestly?"

"I'm angry, but I'm fine." Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him. "What, Bilbo? I am."

"Your nephews just got drugged by one of Smaug’s men, and you say you're  _ angry but fine _ . Come on, pull the other one."

"I'm still... processing." He rubbed his face tiredly. "I knew he would eventually come for me, but I never though he would stoop so low as to attack my family." Thorin groaned. "Oh God, as soon as Dis finds out about this I'm dead."

"Well I'm staying well out of that one. You're on your own, I’m afraid." 

"Thanks for the support."

"You're a big strong man, you can handle her." Bilbo smirked up at him.

"She'll kill me, and it's all because you didn't defend me. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "You're a prat."

He shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps."

A loud  _ thud _ sounded from the lounge, making Bilbo and Thorin rush into the room, only to be met by Kili standing at the fireplace looking bashful, firewood strewn about the floor at his feet. “Whoops?"

"And what, exactly, do you think you're doing?" Thorin asked, trying to hide his amusement.

Kili pointed at the waning fire behind him. "It's cold in here, I was t-trying to get warm."

"Come on, let's get you two upstairs, shall we? I'll turn on the heater in both your rooms."

Fili looked over at his brother, who nodded at him, then looked back up to Bilbo. "About that... er." He winced. "Can we stay in the same room tonight? We don’t want to sleep alone."

Bilbo smiled warmly down at him. "Of course, honey. I have a spare room with two beds, you can use that one."

A look of relief washed over his face. "Thanks Bilbo, really."

"Not a problem." 

Kili took a wobbly step over, then shot a pained look over at Thorin. "Uh, uncle, could I maybe have a little help?"

He nodded and walked over, pulling one of Kili's arms over his own shoulder, supporting most of his nephew's weight. "Let's get you to bed, you troublemaker." He teased gently, a small smile playing about his face.

"Thanks." He mumbled in response, still embarrassed.

Fili rose to his feet slowly, swatting away Bilbo's hands as the Hobbit reached out to steady him. "I'm fine, really. See?" He pointed at his mouth. "Slur's gone."

Bilbo eyed him warily. "You're sure?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "You're worse than Dori, you are.”

"Piss off."

\---

"Bilbo? Are you up?"

Bilbo rolled over in bed and heaved himself up on one elbow, squinting at the tall silhouette standing at his bedroom door. "Thorin?"

Taking that as an invitation in, the politician entered, closed the door behind himself, and stood awkwardly at the door, shifting from side to side. It was incredibly endearing, and Bilbo warmed at the sight. 

Remembering his manners as host, he cleared his throat and sat up, turning on the beside lamp. "Is everything alright?"

Thorin took another step closer. "It's just... Uhh. That couch in the hallway is impossible to sleep on. I think I've done something to my neck."

Bilbo huffed, shaking his head. "I know it's uncomfortable, you git. I told you to sleep in one of the guest rooms but oh no, you have to  _ sleep in the hallway and guard your defenceless nephews. _ " He mimicked Thorin’s deep voice, gently teasing. "I have more than one guest bedroom, you know."

"They're cold."

He raised an eyebrow, amused by how much Thorin sounded like a petulant child. "Funny thing about that, it being an early spring night and all."

Thorin stared at the ceiling, exasperated. "Are you going to make this as hard for me as possible?"

“Why of course, have you met me?" He leant back against the headboard, smiling at him innocently. "So, why are the other rooms inferior, hmm?"

"They're... _empty."_ Thorin mumbled.

"Sorry, missed that."

“Just," he sighed “can I please join you in bed?"

Bilbo grinned. "Why of course! Why didn't you just say so when you first walked in?"

Thorin grumbled under his breath something about frustrating Hobbits and walked over to the unoccupied side of the bed. Bilbo reached over and pulled the duvet back, patting the bed invitingly. "Thanks.” The politician grumbled as he slipped into bed and pulled the blankets over himself, lying on his side, facing Bilbo.

"You know, Thorin, I'm a pretty simple guy." He shuffled down so he was lying on his pillow, eye level with Thorin. "If you ever want something, like come to bed to talk or kiss or whatever, all you've got to do is ask."

The politician huffed. "I'm not exactly in the habit of asking for things like that." 

He grinned. "Well, depending on what your final decision about us is, you'd best get used to using your words asking for things. I refuse to read subtext." Bilbo asked jokingly, but then saw how Thorin's face fell and immediately wished he hadn't. "No pressure or anything to give me an answer now, I did say tomorrow."

"About that..." He swallowed thickly. "I know it's no excuse, and you don't have to say anything in response, but I wanted to apologise for how I've treated you in the past. And today. I’ve been letting my anger get the best of me. There have been some...  _ things _ going on back at home and I fear I've taken it out on you, which isn’t fair."

Bilbo’s smile faded and transformed into a frown. "Don't worry about it, really, I know you've got  _ stuff _ going on. Just... don't coddle me or yell too much, and you're fine." He cleared his throat. "Also, I know I said this earlier today, but I need you to be a little more open about everything?” Bilbo reached forward and stroked Thorin’s cheek, voice lowering to a near-whisper. "I get the feeling that you have a lot going on in that head of yours, things you don't share with anyone."

Thorin closed his eyes and sighed raggedly, tension leaving his body in an instant. "It's my responsibility to protect Fili and Kili. My friends. My family.” He turned his face and leaned into Bilbo’s touch. “And now, you."

“What did I say earlier about that, Thorin?” Bilbo warned.

“I know, I just mean - I can look after this. I can look after my family. They don't need to know every single detail of what's really going on. I don't want to worry them if I don't have to, I can carry the burden."

Bilbo kicked him in the shin, making him release a quiet _‘oof!'_ and open his eyes. "You'll crash and burn if you do that, Thorin Durin, and you know it."

"Are you always this gentle when you give advice?"

"You're lucky I haven't slapped you, the amount of nonsense that's coming out of your mouth." Bilbo pulled the blankets up under his chin with his spare hand and tangled their legs together. "You do know that you can talk to me? I'm not one of 'them', you can trust me to keep quiet."

"I know... I'll tell you when I'm ready."

"Good." He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Is everything okay back at home? You don't have to tell me details."

"It's... tense. I worry about leaving Dis by herself for too long to deal with everything. I think I'll have to go back soon, especially after what's happened with Fili and Kili." He looked at Bilbo apologetically. "Sooner rather than later, actually."

"How soon?" Bilbo asked softly, not hiding the disappointment in his voice.

“Two days, it's the first flight I could find."

"Oh." He bit his bottom lip, kicking himself for caring so much that Thorin was leaving. "That bad, huh?"

He hummed in affirmation. "That bad.” Thorin shuffled a little closer, leaving only a small gap between them. "I won't be gone long, two or three days at most." He reached up and cupped Bilbo's cheek, running his thumb across the smooth skin. "Don't worry."

Bilbo huffed. "I'll worry if I bloody want to." He squinted warily up at him. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

"Of course not." He chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around Bilbo's middle, pulling him closer so their chests were flush against each other.

"You better not or you'll have to deal with me when you get back." He wiggled down so his head fit comfortably under Thorin's chin.

Thorin made small circles with the pads of his fingers against Bilbo's back, making the Hobbit sigh happily and melt into the mattress. "I'll come back in once piece, then before you know it you'll be sick of me."

"Ridiculous." Bilbo nuzzled even closer, taking in Thorin's rich, earthy scent. The dark chest hairs that poked out the top of his black vest tickled Bilbo's nose, making him snuffle against Thorin's warm skin. 

Utterly charmed by the coziness of the sleepy Hobbit, Thorin closed his eyes and felt his body begin to relax. “Goodnight, Bilbo.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use your words, Thorin.
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.
> 
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.  
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.   
> Currently I’m trying to post a new chapter every week, which I’m achieving.


	10. All in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets some revenge,  
> A familiar face enters the Teahouse,  
> And Bilbo and Thorin play hide and seek in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/trigger warning: revenge porn mention

The hairs started pricking up at the back of Bilbo's neck in his sleepy, half awake state; the eerie feeling that someone was watching him pulling the Hobbit from his deep slumber. Opening one eye slowly, he was met by the soft smile of his cosy bedfellow. 

He grumbled, closing the eye right back up. "Granted, you're gorgeous, but it's too fucking early to be awake."

Thorin chuckled. "Good morning to you too."

He snuggled in closer and noticed something rather hard resting against his soft stomach. _Oh._ Bilbo grinned to himself, concocting the perfect revenge. "Seems like one part of you is a touch more awake than the rest, though." He said nonchalantly as he rolled his hips against Thorin, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the man.

 _"Bilbo."_ Thorin moaned breathlessly as he slipped his hand up the back of Bilbo's baggy shirt and grabbed at the soft flesh.

Angling to make Thorin utterly fall apart, Bilbo mustered all his strength and rolled them over so he was straddling the politician, knees resting against his strong thighs. He leant forward and rocked his hips again, then bit down on the taller man's collarbone as Thorin keened upward, lifting them both. 

He rested his chest against Thorin's, licking a trail from his neck to his jawline, making him shudder and gasp for air. "Thorin, can I ask you a favour?" He whispered, nibbling at his ear lobe.

All Thorin could do was nod eagerly and release a needy moan at the back of his throat, hands kneading Bilbo's arse. 

Bilbo chuckled darkly and reached down between them, cupping the bulk at the front of Thorin's grey pants. _"Anything?"_

"God, yes. A-Anything." He stuttered, hand gripping Bilbo's rear even tighter.

He shimmied up Thorin's body, lips pressed against the mans ear. "Don't you dare wake me up at sunrise ever, ever again."

At that, he peeled himself off Thorin and climbed out of bed, ignoring the wounded noise that the politician made at the back of his throat. He pulled his shirt off and smiled down at Thorin smugly. "Well, glad that's sorted. Get dressed, let's make breakfast."

Thorin groaned and looked up at him desperately, absolutely wrecked. "You're evil."

Bilbo put his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows. "You're the one who woke me up at this ungodly hour, you only have yourself to blame."

"Pure evil."

He laughed brightly and threw Thorin's clothes across the room, which landed on the politician's head. "Come on, as if we were going to do anything with your nephews two doors down and Dwalin downstairs."

"Still evil."

"You big baby." He rolled his eyes and climbed up on the bed, hovering over Thorin. Smiling fondly, he leaned down and kissed Thorin deeply, enjoying the long sigh Thorin released as soon a their lips touched. 

As soon as the kiss started turning a little _too_ passionate, he pulled back and sat by Thorin's side, stroking his furred chest up and down, using just the lightest touch of his fingertips. “Come on, I'm not that awful."

"The absolute worst."

He cackled, tilting his head back, and slid out of bed, pulling Thorin's hand after him. "Come on, get dressed. Breakfast time."

Thorin's eyes twinkled. "Only if I get to watch you change." He reached out and pinched Bilbo's left arse cheek, making him yelp and bound forward, covering his behind with both hands. “Go on, give us a show."

"What's gotten into you this morning?" He asked as he walked backwards, hands outstretched to stop Thorin if he tried to pinch him again.

“You! You've got me all riled up on purpose.” Thorin replied petulantly, arms crossed.

Bilbo crouched down and picked up a few pieces of clothing from the sofa, holding them against his bare chest. "You wake me up, you deal with the consequences." He walked to the bathroom door and winked down at Thorin. "So no, you don't get to watch me change. You'll have to earn the right to see my gorgeous, naked body."

Before Thorin could speak a word he grinned and ran into the ensuite, locking the door behind him with a decisive _click._

Thorin groaned and fell back onto the pillows. "You're a menace!"

Bilbo’s belly laugh could be heard through the bathroom door, accompanied by the muffled sound of a shower being turned on. “You know what you did, sweetheart."

“Stop teasing, come back to bed.” 

More laughter. "Get dressed, you wet blanket."

"I'll _make_ your blanket wet, the state you've got me in."

"Don't you _dare_ wank in my bed!" Bilbo howled, thumping against the door.

The politician started hitting the back of his hand against the inside of his opposite forearm, mimicking the slapping sound. "Too late." Thorin released a dramatic moan, trying to make it sound as convincing as possible.

"Why, you fucking-" Bilbo ripped open the door, dripping, towel held against his front.

Thorin smiled up at him innocently, then raised his middle finger at the flustered Hobbit. " _Checkmate_."

“You cheeky bastard!” Bilbo screeched and slammed the door shut. 

“I learned it from the best!” He called back, arms behind his head.

Thorin waited around two minutes before he crept into the bathroom, knocking softly on the opaque shower door. “Bilbo?” 

A wet hand snaked out and yanked him in by the arm, clothes and all.

It was a while until breakfast was served.

\---

"Yes, Ted, I know you're just nervous, but you've had over a week here and still not improved." 

He did his third lap of the teahouse floor, biting his lip. This was the thing he hated most about running a business - firing people, even when he knew he had to. It was heartbreaking. Because no matter how hard you tried to be nice, someone was still losing their job. And it was all your fault.

Bilbo sighed into the phone. "I'm sorry Ted, it's nothing personal. You're just not cut out for hospitality."

"Yeah, I thought so. Sorry Mister Bilbo." Ted's timid voice replied.

"It's not your fault mate, you'll find the right job soon enough." He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry but I have to go, I’ve got to open up shop. Have a good week, Ted."

"You too, Mister Bilbo."

"Bye." He ended the call and slipped his phone in his pocket, wincing. "Fuck I hate doing that."

He walked back behind the barista machine and continued getting ready for the morning. Before he had a chance to unpack the box of scones that had arrived fresh that morning, the door bell sounded, signalling someone had walked in. He popped his head up to see over the copper machine and froze.

Smaug was back, and this time with company.

Bilbo gulped, taking in the terrifying view of Smaug's companion. He had definitely seen this mountain of a man before, his huge frame and pale, scarred skin giving him away in an instant. A large healed gash diagonally marred the centre of his sour face, alluding to a life of violence and combat. Yet somehow his presence was more imposing than his countenance, the man moved silently with intent and restrained power, looming over a head taller than everyone in the room.

Bolg.

Trying to mask his discomfort, Bilbo wore the bravest smile he could muster. "Morning gents, what can I do for you on this fine Spring day?"

Bolg snorted, thoroughly disinterested in the niceties, and sat at the table closest to the door, glaring out the window. "The usual, Boss,” the man grunted, sliding his black Ray Bans into the jacket pocket of his charcoal grey suit.

Ignoring his rude lackey, Smaug sauntered forward cooly, left hand tucked into his trouser pocket as he gestured around the empty Teahouse with the right. “We’re after some delicious hot beverages and scintillating conversation - what else, my dear friend?"

Bilbo's hands clenched into fists at his sides, hidden from sight behind the large espresso machine. "Two services I'll happily provide for all my paying customers. What will it be today?"

Smaug draped an elbow across the top of the coffee machine, leaning into Bilbo’s personal space. "A Cappuccino for my friend and a Ristretto for myself, if you'll be so kind."

He nodded and fetched two warm cups from the top of the machine, avoiding Smaug's golden eyes as he watched the Hobbit keenly. 

Uncomfortable with the attention, he scoured his mind for a topic safe enough for small talk. “Have you been enjoying your stay in Hobbiton so far?"

"Of course, such a charming little village this place is." He smiled, revealing all his teeth. "I'm so glad we've been welcomed here with open arms, why, the Mayor himself has invited us to dinner at his house this evening."

“Good for you." Bilbo replied flatly, staring down at the dripping espresso as it pooled in the tiny ceramic cup. 

"Yes, it is.” He drawled smugly. "I'm very eager to share my plans for this gorgeous village, there’s only _great things_ ahead for Hobbiton. You'll see." 

Bilbo pursed his lips. "Plans?"

Smaug chuckled darkly, the uncanny sound making Bilbo barely repress a shudder. "Now now, Mister Baggins." He tutted, shaking his head. "We both know where your loyalties truly lie, I can't have you scampering off and whispering all my secrets into handsome Durin ears."

"I don't know what you’re talking about." He replied as strongly as he could, risking looking Smaug in the eye.

He winked at him across the espresso machine. "Oh no? Then it _wasn't_ your cottage that housed three Durins last night?" His smirk widened. "Dare I ask why only two bedrooms were occupied, the master bedroom curtains drawn?"

Bilbo blinked. _“Excuse me?”_ He leaned in closer, voice lowering to a threatening whisper. "What the fuck are you trying to say, mate? Come on, out with it. I dare you."

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor sounded in the background, making Smaug roll his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, maintaining eye contact with Bilbo. "Calm down, Bolg. Please sit back down, Mister Baggins and I are just having a friendly conversation." The chair scraped along the ground once more and Smaug rolled his shoulders, grimacing. "Like a guard dog, that one. One hint of aggression and he goes into defensive mode, it's rather odious. Just ignore him.” He waved a hand dismissively in Bolg’s direction.

"You brought your own bodyguard into _my_ teahouse?" He crowed. "I'm unsure if I should feel complimented or not, that you feel like you have to protect yourself against little old me."

"Don't think of yourself so highly, Mister Baggins. It’s terribly unattractive." Smaug’s smile turned predatory. "It's not _you_ I'm weary of, its that wretched group of Ereboreans that follow you around like a bad smell. One can't be to careful around them, they can be so _fickle_."

Bilbo held his tongue and continued working on the coffees, now steaming the frothed milk for the Cappuccino. "They've only ever treated me with kindness."

"Or course they have, they're after something from you." Smaug picked a piece of lint from his sleeve, feigning disinterest. "You don't scare the lamb as you bring it to the slaughter, do you now? No, you lull it into a false sense of security, make it feel safe." He tutted, shaking his head. "I'm disappointed in you, you seemed so much smarter than this."

His knuckles tightened on the handle of the frothing milk jug. "So I'm a bloody lamb now, am I?"

Smaug's eyes twinkled as they met Bilbo's. "Only if you choose to be."

“Sure.” Bilbo huffed as he turned off the steam wand and filled the white ceramic cup to the brim, then sprinkled it with powdered chocolate. “If you'll please excuse me, your drinks are ready. I'll walk them over."

"Ever the example of good country manners aren't you, Mister Baggins?" 

"I try my best." He picked the two cups up and started for the table, but was stopped by Smaug blocking his path. Bilbo pursed his lips and looked up into his eyes defiantly. "Yes?"

"I really want to help you, I do. But you're making it far too hard." 

Bilbo furrowed his brow. _"Help me?"_

Taking advantage of Bilbo's full hands, Smaug reached out and placed a slender hand on the shorter man's shoulder, feeling him tense up. "You're only headed towards trouble and heartbreak if you remain on the path you're currently on. It's, well, _sad_ to watch."

He took a slow step backwards, out of Smaug's grip. _"I beg your pardon!"_

Smaug rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. "Do keep up, Mister Baggins. When you feign ignorance it's _ever_ so boring."

The Hobbit took in a sharp inhale, composing himself. “Right. That’s it." He strode forward, headed towards the furthest table where Bolg was seated. "I'm sorry but I'm tired of playing around. You can wax poetic about me and my choices all you like, but I have a business to run." He placed the coffees down and froze as he felt Smaug place a hand on the small of his back.

"But I rather enjoy playing with you, my auburn-haired lamb." Smaug stage whispered in his ear while Bolg smirked up at them, thoroughly entertained by his boss' games.

Cold sweat prickled at Bilbo’s temples. "Please remove your hand, I need to get back to work." He asked as calmly as he could, very aware of the dangerous men flanking him.

"He'll remove his hand when he's done talkin', lamby." Bolg spat, his smirk shifting into a snarl.

Bilbo gulped. “Please. I don't want any trouble. I-I just need to put the scones into the display case before they get hard."

"Oh, did you hear that Boss?" Bolg mocked. "We can't let those soft, moist scones get all hard now, can we?"

"Shut up, Bolg. Stop teasing the poor man, can't you see he's distressed?" Smaug removed his hand from the small of Bilbo's back and leant forward, slapping the back of his bodyguard's bald head with a loud _smack_.

The corner of Bilbo's mouth quirked up into a near-smile, and Bolg's eyes narrowed to slits. "You'll pay for that, lamby." He whispered dangerously, loud enough for only Bilbo to hear.

He swallowed and took a careful step back, Smaug moving out of his way. "W-Well, best get back to it."

Smaug picked up the small glass, downed the Ristretto in one, and threw a twenty pound note on the table. "For your trouble." He tapped Bolg on the shoulder twice and the man grunted, stood up, and joined him at the door.

"Please, let me get you some change-"

"-Not needed, my dear friend." The cold, toothy smile returned. "Such _excellent_ service should only be rewarded with what is due." 

Bolg opened the door and headed outside. "Boss?"

He nodded gracefully at Bilbo. "Till our next meeting, Bilbo Baggins. I look forward to it." Smaug grinned slyly and sauntered out of the door, slamming it loudly behind himself.

Bilbo walked shakily back towards the safety of the coffee machine, going over what had just happened in his head. 

“Jesus Christ. I’m fucked."

\---

Bilbo sipped at his tea in front of the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. What a _day._ He sunk deeper into the sofa, wishing it would swallow him up. First, he fired Ted, then Thorin hadn’t called like he said he would, and now this? Threats from Smaug’s right hand man?

 _Surely_ Bolg was bluffing. Nobody in real life actually said ' _you'll pay for that_ ', did they? It was all so... dramatic. Cinematic, even.

But this wasn't a film, there was an actual thug walking around Hobbiton, and a target painted on Bilbo’s back.

He shivered. "It's all in your head, Bilbo. You need to stop reading all those damned books, getting those ridiculous ideas in your head.” Bilbo muttered to himself, scrubbing his face.

The antique grandfather clock in the study struck eight. He groaned raggedly and stood up, making his his way to the staircase. "I just need some sleep. Yes. An early night will fix this."

Climbing the staircase slowly, he made his way up to his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He pulled his navy cardigan off, threw it haphazardly to the couch, then reached back and yanked off his faded sky blue t-shirt. Bilbo tossed that across the bedroom as well, so it landed in the dirty clothes hamper. 

Sighing loudly, he fell backwards onto his bed and felt something scratch against his back. "What the hell?" He reached under himself and pulled out a folded white piece of paper, frowning up at it. "Where did you come from, huh?"

He opened the note and a smaller piece of paper fell out and floated down onto his chest. Dropping the main note, he picked up the smaller note and turned it over.

All the blood drained from his face. 

It was the photo.

It had been cut in half, so all you could see was a large male hand rested on top of his head, down to Bilbo's heavy-lidded eyes and the top of his nose. Cropping aside, it was very obvious what the photo was documenting.

Making a strained noise at the back of his throat, Bilbo picked up the large white piece of paper and read it. It was hand written in scratchy, slanted text, with a few words angrily scratched out.

 **Don't** ~~ **smile**~~ **embarrass me again.  
** **I know exactly what to do with this if I have to,** ~~ **boy**~~ **Lamby.  
** **-B**

Bilbo leapt off the bed and checked the windows frantically, his heartbeat racing in his ears. All of them were locked. He sat on the bead, clutching at his chest. "He was here! He was in my bedroom, oh _fuck_." 

Turning the paper over in his shaking hands, he saw his family crest, recognising his mother’s old letterhead. It was paper from his study, note written with his favourite fountain pen. He dropped the note and photo as if they had burned him and stood up. "I need to get out of here _now_." 

Pulling on the closest item of clothing he could find, his old red hoodie, Bilbo slipped his phone into his pocket and bounded down the stairs. Not bothering to lock the back door behind himself, his house no longer safe, Bilbo hurried out into his backyard, torch in hand, headed for the woods.

"I just need some air, a walk will do me good." 

He rushed into the safety of the trees and pulled in a pained breath, sinking down to the grass as his legs finally gave up on him.

“My god, Bilbo. What have you done?"

  
  


\---

  
  


Bilbo wrapped his arms tighter around himself, the night’s chill starting to seep into his very bones. Heavy rain had started an hour previous, forcing him to hide under a towering Elm tree and stop walking aimlessly, but he didn’t mind. The view was spectacular from his dry vantage point under the leafy canopy, the perfect spot to sit and think. 

Comfortably perched on a smooth rock, Bilbo could see the back door of his home and the entirety of Hobbiton laid before him, the warm lights of the Green Dragon twinkling merrily as they were reflected in the water below.

He sighed loudly, leaning against the rough bark behind him. What the hell was he going to do?

After two hours of deliberating, he had come up with two ways he could go about this. One… pack his bags and stay with his friends in London for a few months until it all blew over. And two… distance himself from Thorin and his company, lay low, and pray that Smaug and his gang stopped visiting the Teahouse and left him alone.

Either way, his developing relationship with Thorin would be cut short. And he hated the atmosphere of London, so that wasn’t going to work at all.

When it came down to it, Bilbo was a realist. He knew that there were more important things in life than having someone warm to hold at night. Avoiding having _that photo_ splattered all over magazines and the internet came to mind, top of the list.

He pulled his legs up and hugged them against his chest. How was he going to separate himself from Thorin? From his campaign team? When they lived _next door!?_ His heart rate picked up, and his throat went dry. 

He was fucked.

Another hour passed, and with it the nervous ball that was forming in his stomach grew. Thorin would understand, _surely_. The man wasn't an arsehole. 

That was… if he decided to tell the politician the whole truth, why he was backing off. _Shit._

The wind changed direction, blowing rain straight into his face. Bilbo yelped and spluttered, wiping his face with the oversized sleeves of his hoodie. "Ugh, this rain can bugger right off!" He grumbled angrily, shuffling backwards against the tree trunk so he was out of the rain. "Bloody rain making me bloody cold, damned-"

A voice called out, carried in the wind. "Bilbo?" 

"You've got to be joking.” He stiffened, lowering his mutterings to a whisper. 

The sound came closer, from the woods behind him. "Bilbo are you here? Bilbo?"

Bilbo groaned. _Of course_ it was Thorin. What fantastic timing. “Shit."

"Hello? Bilbo? Are you there?"

"Down here." Bilbo answered, realising there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

Thorin burst into the clearing, the low light of the moon revealing how panicked and stressed he was. His short hair was standing up at all angles, with twigs sticking out of the dark brown mess, his clothes thoroughly saturated from the rain. Despite all of that, the most shocking part of his appearance was his eyes, which were wide open and frenzied, darting under the trees for the source of Bilbo's voice.

"Where are you? I can't see you..." His voice faltered. "Are you hurt? Should I go and get Dwalin?"

Bilbo hefted himself up and pulled Thorin by the elbow to join him out of the rain, but as soon as he touched Thorin he found himself wrapped up in a tight embrace and pushed against the tree. He made a small choking sound and patted Thorin on the back a few times, trying to calm him down. "Yes, I'm here. It's all fine, stop worrying."

Thorin pulled back, hands resting on the Hobbit's shoulders. "Where the hell have you been, Bilbo? I've been searching for hours!"

“What?" Bilbo cleared his throat and stared at the ground. "That's ridiculous, I haven’t been out here that long… And you shouldn't be outside in the rain, you'll catch a cold."

He started patting Bilbo down for injuries, ignoring the Hobbit's fussing. "Bofur saw you sprint out of the house, but by the time he came to find me you were long gone..." Thorin lowered his voice and it took on a soothing tone, as if he was trying to calm a wild animal. "If you don't want to talk about it, I’ll respect your wishes. But I need to know - are you alright?"

Bilbo laughed dryly. "Not really."

"Are you hurt?” He asked, voice thick with concern, his fretting making Bilbo feel like the worst person in the world. Here was Thorin Durin, worried sick over him, and all he could do was think about himself, how he could try to reveal as little emotion as possible and start distancing himself from the man.

God, he hated himself right now.

He forced a smile. "I'm right as rain."

Thorin laughed suddenly, the sound catching Bilbo off guard. _"Right as rain..._ Of course you scare the death out of me and then make a pun." He cupped Bilbo’s cheek, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper. "You're sure you're not hurt?"

Bilbo swallowed. "Positively."

"If you say so..." Thorin frowned. "You had me worried. Bofur said you left your back door wide open, that out of nowhere you just up and ran outside, then disappeared."

"Just... needed some fresh air, is all." He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning into Thorin's hand. "You shouldn't have come after me, if you get sick I'll feel terrible."

"I don't care. I needed to know you were alright."

The pit of his stomach fell. "I'm fine, you git. How many times do I have to say so, to get it through that thick skull of yours?"

"I don't care about a little bit of rain." Thorin leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, which Bilbo responded to happily, then instantly regretted. So much for distancing himself. 

Bilbo leaned his head back against the tree trunk and looked up into Thorin's eyes. "What are you doing here, Thorin?"

He frowned. "I thought it was pretty obvious... I was looking for you."

"I mean, why not just send Dwalin to find me? You didn't need to make such a fuss."

“I always want to fuss over you.” He replied simply, shrugging.

Bilbo swatted his shoulder. "You know what I mean, stop making fun."

"It's not my intention, trust me." He smirked. "And as much as I am enjoying pressing you up against a tree, we should probably head indoors and get warm." Thorin stepped backwards into the rain and offered Bilbo his hand, smiling warmly.

Bilbo kicked himself mentally. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

“Okay." He put on a forced smile and walked forward, taking Thorin's hand. "Come on, you drowned rat. Let's get you home."

"Smartest thing you've said all night."

They made their way down the hill together, Bag End closing in, each step making his pulse quicken. Bilbo wasn't ready to face his empty cottage alone, yet he had to restrain himself from inviting Thorin over. He bit his lip worriedly. Perhaps Bell had a bed free he could stay in for the night. Or a couch even, that would do fine.

Thorin tugged on his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts. Bilbo looked up, greeted by an amused smile. “Hmm?"

"Everything alright? You've been awfully quiet the past few minutes."

He nodded twice. "Just thinking."

“Okay." 

They reached Bag End's rear kitchen door, which had been slammed shut by the wind. Thorin shifted awkwardly from side to side, painfully obvious he was deliberating something. 

Before he could ask to come inside, Bilbo spoke up. "Well, night Thorin. Get out of those wet clothes quick, yeah?"

His face fell. "Of course. Sure." 

"Good. Well. I'm off.” Bilbo reached up on his tippy toes and kissed Thorin on the cheek, took one last look at him, and rushed inside. 

He leant against the kitchen door and took in a ragged breath, eyes scrunched shut. "You can do this, Bilbo. He's not here anymore, he just left the note and went." 

Peeling one eye open, he took in the dark cottage. The upstairs hallway light was on, but the entire lower floor was pitch black and silent. A nervous flutter started again in the base of his stomach. "Right. Scratch that. You can't do this."

Bilbo whirled around and moved to grab the door handle, but as he reached out the door was pushed open from the other side. Releasing a high pitched scream, Bilbo took a step backwards and covered his face in self defence, head turned away. 

"Just do it! Get it over and done with, won't you!” Cold arms enclosed him and Bilbo let out another shriek, then started beating against his captor with clenched fists. 

"Bilbo! Hey! It’s okay, it's just me!"

He froze, breathing heavily. "T-Thorin?" Bilbo opened his eyes and looked up, taking in the politician's concerned expression.

"Bilbo... Why did you react like that when I opened the door?" He asked as gently as he could, fully aware that Bilbo was terrified.

He shook his head and clutched at Thorin’s wet hoodie. "Don't want to talk about it." Bilbo responded quietly, muffled in the taller man's chest.

“That’s fine, but I need to know... are you in danger? You acted like I was about to hurt you."

He shook his head again. “Talk later."

Thorin wrapped his arms tighter around Bilbo and bent his head so his lips were against the Hobbit's ear. “I can protect you, you're safe."

"Stay."

"Okay, I'll s-stay." He shuffled them a few steps further inside, closed the door behind them, locked it, and turned on the light. 

Bilbo blinked until his eyes adjusted, took a step back so he was out of Thorin's arms, then gasped loudly as he took in the sight before him. Thorin had started shivering and all the colour had drained from his face, his lips turning blue. 

"Thorin! You look like a fucking ghost! Why didn't you say anything!?"

He smiled sheepishly. "You were f-f-far more important."

"Stop being ridiculous." He chided and slapped Thorin's arm, glaring up at him. "Upstairs. Now. We've got to get you warm before you freeze to death."

Thorin pulled his arms around himself and grinned, teeth chattering, thoroughly amused at how quickly Bilbo had switched to 'Mother Hen Mode'. "Lead the w-way."

His fear forgotten for the moment, Bilbo grabbed Thorin's hand and pulled him in tow, bounding loudly up the hallway to the stairs. "Can you feel your toes?"

"Uh... I t-think s-so?"

 _"You think so._ Christ. How helpful." He grumbled loudly, making Thorin's grin widen.

Bilbo dragged Thorin into his room and left him to stand by the door, then turned to look at his bed. The letter and photo were still there. Taking in a fortifying breath, Bilbo snatched up the photo, shoved it in the letter and folded it up, putting it in his bedside drawer without looking at it. Thorin was in danger of getting pneumonia, and he knew if he looked down at the photo or written letter he would be rendered useless.

His panic attack could wait, there were more important tasks at hand and Thorin needed him.

"Come on, let's get you into the shower." He gestured for Thorin to join him by the ensuite door and flicked the lights on.

Thorin shuffled slowly and stumbled, causing Bilbo to leap forward and steady him. "I'm f-fine, just a little stiff."

"You're not fine, shut up." He steered them both into the bathroom and sat Thorin down on the edge of the large white bath that filled the left side of the tiled room. "Now, how bad are your hands? Do you need any help getting undressed, or do you want me to run the shower and leave?"

“I should be fine, just t-t-turn the shower on please." Thorin reached up and tried to unzip his hoodie but failed miserably, his numb fingers slipping and unable to grasp onto the small metal rectangle.

Bilbo swatted his hands away, rolling his eyes. "Just ask for help, you tit." He walked backwards and leaned into the shower, turning it on, eager to warm up the room and get some steam circulating. “I’ve got you."

“Th-th-thanks." Thorin mumbled, barely audible over the noise of the shower.

“I know what to do, I’ve actually done this before.” He started nattering away, one hand under the spray as it warmed up. "One of Belle's brothers fell into the water out front of the Green Dragon in winter last year, awful business. But as soon as we got him in a warm shower and rugged up with a hot chocolate, he was fine in no time." He finished testing the water temperature and walked back to Thorin, hands on his hips, sizing him up. "We need to get you out of those wet clothes."

Thorin shrugged a shoulder. "I'm n-not shy, go ahead."

He nodded and reached forward, unzipping the black hoodie, which was dark and heavily with the rainwater. Thorin's arms and upper-body were stiff as a board, so he had to get in the politician's personal space, chest-to-chest, and push the hoodie down his shoulders before tossing it into the bath behind. Bilbo then peeled off the politician's now-transparent white t-shirt and bit his bottom lip, taking in the expanse of defined muscle from years of yoga and personal trainers. God, Thorin was gorgeous.

Bilbo shook his head, snapping himself out of it. This wasn't the time or the place, and they didn't have much time before the cold did some serious damage.

“You're going to have to help me with the jeans, sweetheart. I can't get them off when you're sitting down."

“Help me up, p-p-p-please.” Thorin asked quietly, shoulders shaking.

"Come on, we can do this." He supported Thorin's sides and helped him stand up, steadying him as he swayed once upright. "Here, put your hands on my shoulders while I deal with these."

Thorin nodded and did as he was told, his shivering getting increasingly worse. Bilbo shot a thin smile up at him, then crouched and unzipped his dark navy jeans, tugging them down to mid-thigh. 

"Alright, you can sit back down now." Bilbo stood and put his hands under Thorin's armpits, lowering the man down onto the side of the bath again. "Okay. Nearly there."

The steam of the shower had started filling the room, raising its temperature by a few degrees, but Thorin's state was getting increasingly worse. Bilbo looked up at him with concern as he knelt at Thorin's feet and started unlacing his trainers; Thorin had become worryingly quiet, choosing to communicate through nods and grunts. It was setting off alarm bells in his head.

He poked Thorin's foot as soon as it was free of the shoe, and released a relieved sigh as Thorin hissed when he pinched his big toe. 

"Stop. Feels w-w-weird."

"You should be happy you've got any feeling, you git. Stop whining, I'm doing the other one now." Bilbo chided as he unlaced the other shoe and tested the other foot, getting the same reaction. "Good, this just means you're freezing and don't have hypothermia."

Bilbo peeled of Thorin's soaked socks and threw them into the bath, then tossed in the drowned trainers as well. He then reached up and started shimmying the wet jeans down Thorin's shins, pulled them off, and threw them into the bath to join the rest of his saturated wardrobe. 

He stood up slowly, very aware that the floor was a slippery mess. The last thing they needed was a concussion to add to the injuries between them. “Can you stand, or do you need my help getting into the shower?"

"Help." Thorin replied sheepishly, hands folded over his wet black pants.

“Of course, sweetheart." He smiled down at Thorin, then turned to check the shower temperature, remembering he needed to start lukewarm and slowly raise it or he'd hurt Thorin, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

Once happy with the shower, he turned back to Thorin, then looked down at himself. "Is it, uh, ok if I strip down too? I don't exactly want to stand in a shower in this." He gestured at his thick red hoodie.

Thorin smirked up at him. "Am I finally getting m-my striptease?"

He blurted out a loud burst of laughter, covering his mouth. "Your awful sense of humour has returned, good. That's a good sign."

“Hurry up, ‘m f-f-freezing."

"Of course, sorry." He pulled his hoodie off in one fluid movement, threw it into the corner of the room and looked down at his bare chest. "Oh that's right. No shirt."

"Less talking, m-more stripping."

Bilbo tutted good-naturedly, rolling his eyes. "Yes calm down, I'm getting there." He unzipped his fly and pulled his trousers down, toed them off with his shoes in one go, and slid the bundle across the room with his foot. "Well come on then, let's get you warm."

He padded over and helped Thorin stand up, pulling one of the politician's toned arms around his shoulders to help him walk across the wet tiles. They made their way to the shower slowly, and paused at the glass door while he reached forward and tested the water once more, just to be sure.

"If it's too hot tell me, yeah?"

"I'm sure you'll work it out if I start howling in p-p-pain." He replied sarcastically.

"Hilarious." Bilbo replied as they shuffled into the shower together, Thorin's arm still over his shoulders. 

Once they hit the warm stream of water Thorin let out a loud and rather obscene moan, tilting his face up into the spray and closing his eyes. Bilbo snorted softly at his side, wrapping his other arm around Thorin's middle to steady him. 

They stood there like that for a while in complete silence, Bilbo leaning forward and slowly turning up the hot tap every few minutes when he felt Thorin was ready. Thank god his shower was so large, and had ample room for two.

After what felt like thirty minutes had passed, Bilbo cleared his throat and looked up at Thorin, all colour returned to his face, a pleasant blush across his cheeks. "Is it alright if we sit? You're just a tad heavy, my shoulders are starting to hurt."

He opened his eyes and looked down at him, nodding. "I'll need some help, I’m still stiff."

"Sure, just let me just angle the showerhead so you don't get hit in the face." He reached forward and moved it downwards, then returned his arms to Thorin's middle. “Slowly. Remember, it's wet."

"You sure about that? Being a shower and all?” Thorin teased.

"Hey don't be a prat and make me leave you in here to get yourself out." Bilbo chided, both of them knowing it was an empty threat.

"Fine." 

Bilbo moved them so they were leaning against the wall, then slowly started sliding downwards, one arm hanging down, ready to brace himself. Once sitting, they both sighed with relief, leaning their heads against the wall. The water was at the perfect angle, hitting them in their chests and thighs so their whole bodies were warm, but not spraying in their faces so they could talk. 

To his own surprise, Bilbo was first to break the silence. “Why did you come back?”

“Hmm?” Thorin hummed, eyes shut, enjoying the warmth of the spray.

“To Bag End... I said goodbye but you came back inside.”

The politician opened his eyes. “Oh.”

“Yes, _oh._ Well?” Bilbo shuffled backwards and tucked his legs under himself, leaning his shoulder against the shower wall.

“I remembered - I owe you an answer.”

His stomach dropped. “Oh. Well. We can talk about that later, more important things to worry about right now.” Bilbo laughed nervously.

Thorin frowned. “You seemed pretty set on an answer yesterday at the Teahouse, you nearly tore my head clean off.” He narrowed his eyes. “What changed?”

“Nothing’s changed, everything is totally fine.” He tried to laugh convincingly but it came out too high-pitched, Thorin’s frown deepening. 

The politician placed a gentle hand on Bilbo’s knee. “You’re not fine, though.” He paused. "Did… did I do something?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Oh my god no! You haven’t done anything, you stop thinking like that this instant!” 

“So... by the power of deduction, if it isn’t me… then it has to be you.” Thorin prompted gently, curious.

He covered his face with both hands. “Okay. It’s me.”

Thorin’s hand squeezed Bilbo’s knee. “Well? Can I do anything? Change anything?” 

“I don’t…” He let out a shattered breath and thumped his head against the wall, hands falling to his lap. “I mean… shit.”

“You’re scaring me, Bilbo.”

He met Thorin’s worried gaze and winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Thorin reached down for the Hobbit's hand and pulled him into his lap. Bilbo melted and went where he was gently moved, saying nothing, allowing himself to be manoeuvred sidewards into Thorin’s arms.

He tucked his head under Thorin’s chin and pulled the politician’s arms around him. “What was your answer?” He asked quietly.

“I spent a great time thinking today and talked to Dwalin.” Thorin started stroking the Hobbit's back. “My answer is… yes. Let’s do this. I’m all in.”

“That’s… _great.”_ His voice faltered.

“Okay now you’re _really_ scaring me.” Thorin cupped Bilbo’s shoulders and angled him backwards so he could see the Hobbit's face. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t-“ 

_“-Please,_ Bilbo. Let me help you.”

“I can’t-“

“-Bilbo!” Thorin begged, shaking him once.

“We- we can’t be together any more!” Bilbo blurted out. "He has it...” his bottom lip started wobbling. “The picture. Smaug has the picture.” 

Thorin’s expression turned thunderous. “He _what?”_

“He… me and my ex. _That_ picture."

“You and James?” He snarled.

The Hobbit nodded, colour draining from his face. “Yeah.”

Thorin’s fingers started digging into Bilbo's shoulders, arms shaking. “I’ll kill him.”

“No, Thorin.” He choked. “You can't do that for me, don’t you dare!”

“I’ll make it look like an accident.” His eyes changed, face unrecognisable. Bilbo had never seen him look so frightening, his expression cold and hard. “He’s finished."

“I won’t let you hurt someone on my behalf, I just won’t!” Bilbo’s voice turned shrill and he batted Thorin’s hands away, poking him in the chest. “If you do it I’ll never forgive you, you’ll never see me again!” 

Thorin balked, his face returning to normal in an instant. “Shit.” His expression crumpled, realising he had gone too far. “Shit, Bilbo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t- I won’t, I swear.”

“Who _are you?”_

He flinched as if he had been slapped. “You know who I am.”

“Do I?” He reached up and cupped Thorin’s face with both hands, tilting the politician's head down. “Sometimes… sometimes it's you that scares _me,_ Thorin. What have those eyes seen?” Bilbo asked softly, trailing a thumb along the dark circle under his right eye, sunken from lack of sleep. “What from your past keeps you up at night?"

“I…” Thorin deflated, his shoulders sagging. “I’ve done what I had to. What needed to be done.”

He looked up at Thorin with wide eyes, knowing that he should end things. That it was the right choice. The _safe_ choice. But he couldn’t. Deep down, he knew they were linked somehow, that Thorin’s burdens were now his to share, and his Thorin’s.

Bilbo furrowed his brow, voice pleading. “You can stop this, Thorin. You can walk way.” Thorin's face twisted into something complicated and Bilbo realised they weren’t just talking about Smaug anymore. _Oh._

“I can’t.” He replied, deep voice wavering. “There is no choice, Bilbo. Not for me.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second, I absolutely refuse to.” The Hobbit sat up and perched on his knees, face level with Thorin's. “You make your own choices. If anyone can change their fate, it’s you.” 

“Bilbo... I…"

He swallowed thickly and braced himself for what he was about to say. “And… and I’ll be there by your side when you do. We can do this. Together.” Bilbo placed a hand on Thorin’s chest, offering him a lopsided smile.

Thorin searched his face for a hint of hesitation. “Are you sure?”

“More than anything.” He nodded. “If you’re all in, so am I."

“This… this is big, Bilbo. Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” Thorin asked, pulling him in closer, wrapping his arms around the Hobbit.

Bilbo stared into his eyes defiantly, raising his chin. “I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Thorin kissed him softly, no heat to it. “But first, let's get out of this shower and go to bed. I’m exhausted. We can start tomorrow.”

He hummed in agreement, leaning in for another kiss. “Okay sweetheart. I trust you."

“And I trust you...” Thorin pressed their foreheads together, letting out a long sigh. “More than you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s all ramping up! Things be happening!  
> Sunshine is ahead soon, I promise.
> 
> -
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm an Australian Designer.  
> Essentially, I know a medium-ish amount about the UK and/or politics, so there may be some errors in here - please know I don't intend to offend anyone. I'm just writing this bad boy for funsies.
> 
> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so there may be some things I have missed.  
> Comments most welcome!
> 
> I'll get up the next chapter as soon as I can.  
> Currently I’m trying to post a new chapter every week, which I’m achieving.


End file.
